


Bloodbound

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Erik is a Big Dorkface, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding himself strapped for cash at the start of his senior year, Erik decides to become a donor at TypO, a blood bar where vampires come to drink fresh blood from consenting donors, safely and legally. There, he catches the eye of Charles Xavier, vampire, telepath, professor at Columbia, and quite possibly the most alluring person Erik's ever met. Their first meeting sets into motion a bond much deeper than they can understand, one that neither of them had ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madneto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madneto/gifts).



> All my love to betty for cheerleading and to pan for the rapid rapid beta and for whipping my ass until I finished this!! Dedicated to madneto, who really, really, really likes vampires (and for being an awesome co-mod!!!!). 
> 
> Alternate summary according to betty: "ERIK IS A DUMB SMITTEN SOFT BOY. CHARLES IS A DUMB SMITTEN OLD MAN IN A SOFT BOYS BODY. THEY FALL IN LOVE AND DRINK EACH OTHERS BLOOD AND SHIT."

Hands clenched in the pockets of his jacket, Erik stood on the curb and stared over at the building on the other side of the street. The windows were all blacked out, covered over with black and red butcher paper, garish posters for shitty movies from the ’80s, and flashing neon lights that said FANGTASTIC! and LIVE LIKE YOU CAN’T DIE. As Erik watched, a couple of guys in skin-tight leather pants and Iron Maiden t-shirts slipped in through the front door. It was difficult to tell if they were human or not; since it was already dusk, anyone could be roaming the streets.

Well. There was no sense in loitering, not when he’d already made the decision to come here. With a sigh, he stepped off the curb and crossed over to TypO.

Inside, it was dark, which Erik had expected. But everything else was something of a surprise. Small wall sconces cast a soft, yellow glow over the place, giving it a much…well, _gentler_ atmosphere than Erik had pictured when he’d read up on blood bars on the Internet. He’d known that the dingy, rundown blood bars in TV shows and movies were exaggerated and mostly untrue, but still, some part of him had been bracing for dirty linoleum floors, blood-smeared chairs, hissing patrons who flinched away from light.

TypO had nothing of the sort. The smooth wooden floors and wood-paneled walls reminded Erik of some 1920s gentlemen’s club. Brown leather couches, two or three to a seat, sat scattered throughout the bar, all carefully arranged to offer some semblance of privacy. With the sun close to setting, a good number of the couches were already occupied. Erik tried not to stare.   

A purple-haired girl in a black uniform stood at a lectern inside the door, checking IDs. Erik tried to tamp down on his nervousness as he joined the line, behind the two guys in leather. He didn’t have to stay, he reminded himself. He could walk in, change his mind, and walk right back out, no harm, no foul. The FAQ on TypO’s website had said as much: _If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you are always free to leave. Staff will be present and monitoring in order to ensure a pleasant, satisfactory experience for all involved._ Peering into the bar, he could spot the staff in their black uniforms circulating throughout the bar, inconspicuous but still present. There were plenty of safeguards. No need to be anxious.  

Apparently the guys in front of him had been here before — the purple-haired girl glanced at them and asked dryly, “Back again so soon?”

“You know we can’t stay away, Betsy,” one of the guys said, handing his ID over. He leaned casually against the lectern and gave her a slow grin. “So? Did you think about it?”

Betsy tapped on the tablet at her station, her expression flat. “About what?”

“You know what!”

“No, Brad,” she said, “for the hundredth time, I don’t want a donation from you. Hand.” When he held out his wrist, she wrapped a red wristband around it.  

“Oh come on!” Brad waggled his thick eyebrows. “I’ve been told I’m delicious _._ Some lady said I’m a fucking _delicacy_.”

“Go in or get out,” Betsy said, rolling her eyes. “You’re holding up the line.”

“Come _oooon_. Just a taste?” Brad pulled down the collar of his leather jacket, baring his throat. “Just a _little —_ ”

Betsy picked up the walkie-talkie on her station and waved it. “You want me to call Logan up here?”

Brad shoved off the station, glaring. “Bitch.”

“Open your mouth again, and I’m putting my fist through it,” Betsy said coolly. “Next!”

Brad’s friend handed over his ID with a whispered, “Sorry,” and once he’d been given a wristband — his yellow — both of them joined the small crowd milling around on the empty floor space set apart from the couches.

Betsy waved Erik forward impatiently, giving him half a glance. Then she paused and looked more closely at him. “Haven’t seen you here before. First time?”

Erik nodded. “I, uh — I registered online.” He pulled out his wallet and yanked out the waiver he’d printed and filled out earlier that morning. “I brought this.”

Betsy took it from him. “Name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

She typed it into the tablet, scrolled down a list of names — registered donors waiting to be approved, Erik guessed — and nodded. “Gotcha. Let me just pull up your paperwork… Also I need your driver’s license, and you’ll need a TypO ID card. It’s going to be $10.”

Erik handed over his license and a ten-dollar bill and watched as Betsy tapped at the tablet. After a long minute, she raised an eyebrow. “Type O. They’re going to _love_ you here.”   

“Great,” Erik muttered, because he wasn’t sure how else to respond to that.

Betsy arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t sound so excited.”

Erik shrugged. Going out to a blood bar wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun Friday night. Lot of people loved it. Some people hated it. Erik wasn’t sure which camp he would fall into, but he supposed he’d be finding out soon enough.

An ID card printer next to the tablet hissed for a moment, then spat out a card. Betsy plucked it up and handed it over to him. “Don’t lose that. It’ll grant you access to the bar anytime you come here, and it’s what you’ll swipe for your compensation at the end of the night.”

It was a simple card, red with black borders, with his name printed on it, his blood type, an ID number, and TypO’s logo in the upper right corner. Erik slid it into his wallet and took back his driver’s license when she returned it to him.

“If you’re a first-timer, we recommend a fifteen minute session,” Betsy said. “Nothing longer. You watched the safety video, right?”

Erik nodded.

“Good. Just don’t push yourself too far your first time. We don’t want you fainting, you know. Hand.”

He held out his wrist so she could wrap a blue wristband around it.

“Let one of us know if you need anything,” Betsy said, giving him back his arm. “Other than that, have fun.”

With that, she waved the line forward. Tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, Erik took a deep breath and stepped into the crowd.

There were about ten or so couches scattered across the bar, along with a few pairs of armchairs, plus high chairs clustered around a handful of tables. The tables seemed to be for people who were just here socializing, so Erik skirted around them. He wasn’t really sure where to go from here. The FAQs he’d read had said to relax, make himself comfortable, and wait for someone to strike up a conversation. The vampires were usually the ones doing the approaching, since they were ones who picked out which wristbands suited them best. Erik thought he could feel the eyes of the whole bar pinned to his blue wristband, and fought the urge to pull down the sleeve of his jacket to hide it.

Someone let out a soft moan to his left, and Erik turned his head reflexively. Bad idea: his gaze fell on the figures on the couch nearest to him, and he froze, rooted to the spot. Though he told himself not to stare, he couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination as the girl — the donor, it looked like — let her head loll back, her eyes fluttering in bliss. The vampire — an older woman in her forties maybe, though of course, age was irrelevant to vampires — had the girl’s arm raised to her mouth, her sleeve rolled up to the elbow. Unlike in movies, the feeding was almost silent, no slurping, no gross flesh-tearing sounds that always made Erik wince. It didn’t look too bad, Erik thought. But his heart still slammed against his chest, his whole body tense with apprehension.

“Never seen a vampire feed before?”

Erik nearly leaped out of his skin. Thankfully the bar’s soft jazz music covered up the undignified yelp that escaped between his teeth. He jerked around, looking for the speaker, and found no one except a girl with blue eyeliner who passed him by without a glance. Then his gaze dropped and he saw that there _was_ someone behind him: a young man about his age, or perhaps a few years older, sitting in a compact wheelchair, the metal of which tingled pleasantly against Erik’s senses. He was looking up at Erik in amusement, his blue eyes gleaming.

“Um,” Erik said, clearing his throat. “No.” Vampires were prohibited by law from taking donors in public. The most Erik had ever seen a vampire do was sip processed blood from a Red Booster can. Most of his knowledge of feedings came from Hollywood, which was probably as accurate as the average chain email from your grandpa.

The young man smiled. “You haven’t been here before, have you? I don’t recognize you.”

Erik shook his head. “First time.” He glanced down at the man’s wrists, searching out a wristband, and found none. His heart skipped a beat.

The stranger held out his hand with an easy smile. “I’m Charles. Vampire, as you’ve guessed.”

Erik shook his hand. His grip was cool, dry, and strong, and Erik felt suddenly self-conscious about his own sweating palm. Extracting his hand, he wiped it discreetly against his jeans and said, “Erik. Donor.”

“Universal,” Charles said, nodding at Erik’s blue wristband.

“Yeah.”

“Well, Erik.” His accent made Erik’s name sound sharper than usual. “Do you want to find someplace to sit? Only if you’re comfortable with me, of course.”

He knew that as a donor, he had full control over who drank from him. If he didn’t like something about the situation, he was well within his rights to back out and return to mingling in the crowd, or come back another time. But Charles seemed friendly enough, and honestly, Erik wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. So he nodded and followed as Charles led him through the maze of couches and chairs to an empty sofa near the back corner of the bar.

Erik settled stiffly on one side of the sofa, his back rigid. Charles transferred himself over from his chair to the sofa in one smooth, practiced motion, then tugged his chair closer so that it was out of the way.

“So, Erik,” Charles said, “what are you here for?”

Erik ran a nervous hand down his thigh. “Honestly?”

“Well…” Charles cocked his head “…yeah.”

Erik mentally shook himself. Stupid question. “I’m kind of strapped for cash at the moment. I’ve heard this is…”

“A quick way to make a buck? Yeah, it is.” Charles winked. “I’ll even tip you if you’re especially delicious.”

Erik was pretty sure Charles couldn’t tell his face was red, not with the dim lights. “Thanks…”

At that, Charles’s smile softened. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to joke if you aren’t comfortable with it. How do you want to do this? We can get to know each other a bit beforehand if it would put you at ease. Or we can jump right to it, and then you can be on your way.”

Erik paused. Well. Best to get this over with. One session, fifteen minutes, a hundred dollars. It really wasn’t a bad deal.

Taking a deep breath, he shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. “Let’s just do it.”

“Okay,” Charles said agreeably. He shifted so that they were closer, his thigh pressed to Erik’s. Then he took Erik’s arm gently and turned it palm up. “This is your first time?”

Erik nodded, knowing Charles could feel his pulse racing in his wrist.

“Then I’ll go lightly.” He took his phone out of his pocket, tapped at it one-handed, and set it on the small table in front of them. When Erik glanced at it, he saw a fifteen-minute timer counting down.

“Just in case I get carried away,” Charles said. “But don’t worry, I usually don’t.”

Erik forced his hand to remain relaxed instead of clenching into a fist. “Okay.”

Charles smiled and ran his thumb across Erik’s palm. “You don’t have to be nervous, Erik. It’ll be nearly painless, and once the venom hits, it’ll feel good.”

“I know.” Erik swallowed. “That’s what I hear.” And what he’d read on the Internet, on forums, on the TypO FAQ. He wasn’t afraid of the pain, not really. He was just…nervous.

“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let me know,” Charles said. “I’ll stop.”

Erik released a silent, shaky breath. “Okay.” He slouched down slightly so he could lean his head back against the couch cushion and then nodded. “Ready.”

Charles raised Erik’s wrist to his mouth and, unexpectedly, ran his tongue over Erik’s pulse. It felt as intimate as a kiss. Startled, Erik tensed, and Charles rubbed Erik’s forearm, wordlessly urging him to relax. When Erik let his hand fall limp again, Charles grazed Erik’s wrist with his lips.

He looked away as Charles bit down. The pain was like twin needle pricks, sharp but brief. Not bad, Erik told himself, breathing through his teeth. For an uncomfortable few seconds, his wrist ached as Charles began to drink from him, slowly and steadily. Aside from the small discomfort though, he felt fine.

Then, without warning, warmth rushed out from his wrist, up his arm, past his shoulder, through his chest, down his legs. Unbidden, Erik’s body just _relaxed,_ going utterly boneless. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.

Even though Erik had been bracing for this reaction, he was still caught off guard by how quickly it was happening. He’d done his research, he knew how this worked. A vampire’s bite injected venom that left the victim — the _donor_ — lethargic and calm, almost sleepy. It was an old predatory adaptation: no fear, no fighting back. Useful, Erik thought drowsily. And frightening — or it would have been if Erik hadn’t been sure he was safe, if there hadn’t been TypO staff circling by the table every couple of minutes.

Charles lifted his head. “All right?” he murmured softly, his breath hot against Erik’s skin.  

Erik nodded, eyes fluttering shut. This was…actually kind of nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tranquil. Classes were kind of a shitfest right now, money was tight, and arguing with assholes on Facebook about the latest iteration of the Mutant Registration Act (poorly disguised as some bullshit accountability initiative) was as fruitless as ever. He hadn’t had a minute in the last few weeks to just sit down and hit pause for a while. Maybe it hadn’t been such a desperate idea to come here after all.

At some point, he must have dozed off because Charles’s phone alarm blaring over the jazz music jolted him awake. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then the couches and the wood-paneled walls and the glowing wall sconces filtered back to him, and he turned his head indolently to look at Charles, who had pulled back as soon as the alarm went off and was now wiping his mouth with a TypO handkerchief.

“Back with us?” Charles asked, smiling. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes seemed brighter. When he touched Erik’s elbow, his fingers were warm, just like a human’s. “Here, sit up. Drink some water.”

It took Erik a good minute to find the motivation to move. Sitting up was difficult when his whole body felt like it was made of jelly, but he managed it with Charles’s hand on his arm, steadying him.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asked. Sometime during the session, someone — probably one of the staff — had come by and put water, a couple of Nature Valley protein bars, and a small assortment of gauze and tape on the table. Charles took the water bottle, twisted open the cap, and handed it to Erik.

“Fine,” Erik said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, clumsy. “How long before…”

“You should feel normal again in a few minutes,” Charles replied, even though Erik hadn’t finished his question. “Don’t worry, the effect wears off quickly.”

He helped Erik raise the water to his lips and kept his hand there as Erik drank. Once he’d drained half the bottle, Charles took it from him and said, “Are you feeling lightheaded? Do you want a protein bar?”

Erik glanced at him. “Are you this nice to all your donors?”

Charles smiled. “I try to be. It’s different with each person. Some people like it when I stay with them until they leave. Some people would rather be left alone. I haven’t been with a first-time donor in a long time though.” He gave Erik an attentive look. “Do you want me to stick around, or do you want me to go? My feelings won’t be hurt either way.”

The thought of being left alone on this couch while he was still so sluggish was disconcerting. The TypO staff would probably make sure he was taken care of, but what if they didn’t notice him? The bar had grown crowded in the last half hour or so, vampires and donors alike squeezing past each other on the floor, laughing and chattering and saying hello. Erik didn’t want to risk another vampire coming over to him, not while he was still too addled to fight back if need be.

“No,” he said. “Stay.”

Charles’s smile softened, and he scooted a bit closer. “You know,” he said, unwrapping one of the protein bars, “you’re safe here. The staff is very good. They take care of all their donors.”

“Thanks,” Erik muttered when Charles gave him the protein bar. “And yeah, I know.” TypO had a five-star rating as far as blood bars went. That was why Erik had chosen to come here instead of going to the one nearer to NYU, which was much more popular with college kids and probably a hell of a lot riskier, too.

“So,” Charles said, “how was it? Your first time?”

Erik shrugged. “Not bad. Better than I expected.”

Charles laughed. “A ringing endorsement.” He took the gauze and pressed it to Erik’s wrist.

Erik raised his eyebrow. “How was it for you? Was I…delicious?”

He wanted to bang his head against the wall as soon as the question left his mouth. What a fucking weird thing to say.

But when Charles laughed and said, “Indeed,” Erik was oddly glad he’d asked. Charles thought he was _delicious_. The idea probably shouldn’t have sent a warm current down his spine, but it did.

With practiced efficiency, Charles tended to his wrist, dabbing at the blood until the flow had mostly stopped, then laying a bandage across the puncture wounds. Erik watched him with idle curiosity, wondering if he was a doctor. He certainly seemed confident, patching Erik up.

“There,” Charles said, securing the bandage with medical tape. “Good as new. Well, almost.”

“Thanks.”

As Charles had promised, the lethargy lifted after a few minutes, leaving Erik clearheaded and alert once more. But the peaceful feeling that had come over him during the session persisted. He felt like he’d just slept for a full nine hours and woken up fully rested.

“Have you donated blood before?” Charles asked.

Erik frowned. Hadn’t they already established this? “No.”

Charles laughed. “No, I meant, have you donated blood for blood banks, medical purposes, something like that?”

“Oh. Yeah. They have a blood drive on my campus every couple of months.”

“Good. So you know to avoid strenuous physical activity, eat something iron-rich later, drink lots of water…”

“Yeah.” They’d had a lot of the same tips on the TypO website.

“Good.” Charles gave him an appraising look. “So you’re a student?”

“Yeah, at NYU.”

“What do you study?”

“Poli sci, with a focus on mutant studies.”

Charles’s eyes lit up. “Mutant studies? I _have_ been meaning to ask — what is your mutation? If you don’t mind telling me, of course.”

How did he know? Erik tried to recall if he’d disclosed his mutant status when he’d filled out his donor paperwork and didn’t remember doing so. The only thing Charles should’ve known about him was his name and his blood type, indicated by the blue wristband.

Charles’s expression turned strangely abashed. “I suppose I should’ve mentioned this before — I’m a telepath.”

Erik froze.

“I haven’t been reading your mind,” Charles said quickly. “Not on purpose anyway. Some things slip through when you think loudly, or when I’m touching you.” He pulled his hand away from Erik’s arm. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

With an effort, Erik shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t…No one should ever have to apologize for their mutation.”

Charles looked taken aback for a moment. Then his smile returned, even warmer and brighter than before. “Thank you, Erik. That’s a lovely sentiment.”

Erik shrugged, faintly embarrassed at the way Charles was regarding him. “It should be common sense.”

“Sadly not.” Charles unwrapped the second protein bar and handed it over to Erik after Erik finished the first. “People can be so very obtuse.”

“People can be _stupid_.” Erik bit into the second protein bar with relish; he was hungrier than he’d expected. “Humans. They hate what they fear. Mutants.” He glanced at Charles. “Vampires.”

Charles smiled. “Are you going into law? Politics?”

“Law,” Erik said. “In a couple of years.” He was planning to take a year off after graduation to work and hopefully scrounge together enough money to pay for law school. The last thing he wanted was to burden his mother further, after she’d already put him through college.

“I’m sure you’ll make an excellent lawyer,” Charles said amiably. Folding up the handkerchief he’d used earlier to dab at his lips, he placed it on the table and then clapped Erik on the shoulder. “Well, how are you feeling? You look all right. Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Then you’re probably good to go.” Charles pointed across the room at a row of kiosks near the exit. “That’s where we’ll go to get you paid. Are you ready to stand up?”

Erik stretched his legs. “Yeah.”

Charles transferred back over to his chair and unlatched the brakes. The crowd was thick and loud now, the jazz barely audible over the buzz of conversation and laughter. For a moment, Erik wondered if he should go on ahead and forge a path for Charles through the throng. But as soon as Charles wheeled forward, people swayed out of the way, almost unconsciously. Bemused, Erik followed him.

“Was that you?” he asked, glancing back at the crowd once they were through it.

Charles led him over to the kiosks. “What? Getting through the crowd? I just nudged them a bit. It’s a handy trick in tight spaces.”

“Yeah, it is.” Erik sometimes did the same, nudging people aside with the metal on their bodies. They were usually more annoyed when he did it though.  

Charles cocked his head. “You know, you never _did_ tell me what your mutation was.”

Erik tugged a string of paperclips out of his jacket pocket with his powers and dangled them in front of Charles. “I’m a metallokinetic. I can manipulate magnetic fields.”

Charles reached out and gently cupped the chain of paperclips in his palm. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks.”

“I’d love to ask you more about it, but I’m actually running a bit late for a meeting.” Charles released the paperclips with obvious reluctance and watched as Erik returned them to his pocket. With a soft sigh, he nodded at the kiosks and said, “Let’s get this sorted, shall we?”

He wheeled over to the nearest one and hit the green _start_ button. The screen was, Erik noticed, perfectly adjusted to suit Charles’s height. There had been a ramp leading up to the front door, too, instead of stairs. Maybe that was why Charles came here — it seemed pretty wheelchair-accessible.  

Charles swiped his TypO ID card and then gestured for Erik to do the same. Once that was done, the screen prompted them to enter duration of donation. Charles typed in fifteen minutes and then hit _confirm_. Then they both signed to verify it, and Charles swiped his credit card.

Erik’s eyebrows shot up when Charles scrolled through the next screen. “ _50%_ tip?”

Charles grinned. “I very much enjoyed my time with you, Erik.” When he saw Erik floundering for words, he added more seriously, “Plus, you said you were tight on money. I have plenty of it. Consider it a donation to your education.” He leveled a stern look at him. “Stay in school.”

“That’s…” Erik laughed hoarsely. “…Thanks. Really, I appreciate it.”

Charles gave him a dazzling smile before turning back to the screen. “Well, that’s about it. I believe the money’s transferred directly to your account if you filled out the appropriate donor paperwork.”

Erik nodded. “I did.”

“Excellent.”

For a moment, they just lingered there by the kiosk, staring at each other. What was the proper way to say goodbye to the guy who just sucked your blood? Bye? See you later? Nice doing business?

Charles smiled and held out his hand. “Take care, Erik.”

Erik shook his hand, Charles’s fingers warm against his own. “Thanks.”

Charles wheeled himself to the exit, where a TypO staff member opened the door for him and wished him a pleasant evening. Then he was gone.

Erik loitered for a couple of minutes by the kiosks, figuring it would be awkward if he left now, only to run into Charles again on the streets. Once he felt Charles’s wheelchair enter a car down the street, he headed out the exit himself.

It was fully dark now, the moon barely visible behind streaks of gray clouds. Erik tucked his hands into his pockets and turned to stare up at TypO’s flashing neon signs. Well. He exhaled. That really wasn’t so bad. Fifteen minutes and he was a hundred and fifty dollars richer. It definitely wasn’t a sustainable way of making money, but it was enough for now.

His phone buzzed. It was Kitty, asking where he was and if he was down to come over to her place to watch a movie and have a drink. He said, _sure_ , and slipped his phone back into his pocket. His sleeve rode up a bit as he did, and a sliver of white peeked out. He pushed his sleeve further back and let his fingers linger over the bandage there, remembering how warm Charles’s lips had felt against his skin. How…good it had been.

His phone buzzed again, jolting him out of the memory: _hurry or you’ll have to make your own margarita._

Giving himself a mental shake, Erik jerked the sleeve of his jacket back down over his wrist. Then, hands shoved into his pockets, he stepped off the curb and left.

*

Friday afternoons were terrible. Charles didn’t have any classes after lunch, but he had office hours, a self-imposed grading period, and the dreaded weekly faculty meeting. Charles had been alive for nearly a century and a half, and still he had yet to encounter anything more boring than an hour-long faculty meeting headed by a seventy-six year old man who spoke very slowly and loved going over every detail twice.

By the time he finally escaped that Friday afternoon at around three p.m., he was tired, sleepy, and hungry. The Red Booster he’d had for lunch hadn’t done much to slake his thirst. It had been okay sustenance, but his fangs itched for fresh blood. He hadn’t had any since last week, with that lovely boy at the TypO bar.

As he packed up his satchel, his phone began to blare out Three Days Grace’s _Animal I Have Become_. Raven’s idea of a joke, which Charles still hadn’t figured out how to change. With a sigh, he picked up and put the call on speakerphone as he shuffled papers together on his desk. “Hello?”

“Why haven’t you answered my texts?” Raven demanded.

Charles vaguely recalled looking at them before lunch and then forgetting to reply. “Ah. Sorry, it slipped my mind.”

“Come on, Charles, I need to know if you’re coming or not. I’m going to buy plane tickets tonight before they get too expensive.”

“If you and Hank want to go to California, I’d rather not be the third wheel.”

“You came with us to Toronto last month!”

“I had business in Toronto,” Charles corrected. “ _You two_ came with _me_.”

Raven sighed. “Fine. But still, don’t you think taking a week off will do you some good? You’re always cooped up in your office these days.”  

“It’s called _working_ ,” Charles said wryly.

“So _dull_.”

“The last time you held a steady job was in 1993. Maybe you should give it another try, you might like it. There are a lot of interesting careers in these modern days, you know.”

“Haven’t I told you I’ve taken up painting?” Raven sniffed. “That’s a career.”

“Hank might have mentioned it.” He’d also mentioned that Raven was quite a terrible painter, and then he’d scrambled to swear Charles to secrecy. Sometimes Charles wondered what Raven had done to deserve the adoration of such a sweet boy. Slipping his tablet into his satchel, he added, “As long as it makes you happy, my dear.”

“You know what would make me happy? You, coming with us to California. We’ll go to beach, Charles. You love the beach.”

“I have too much work to do to take a vacation now.”

“ _Work, work, work_.” Raven harrumphed. “That’s all you do these days, Charles. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how restless you’ve gotten lately. You’re _depressed_.”

“Nonsense,” Charles scoffed. “I’m perfectly happy.”

“Don’t lie to me, Charles. You’re _bored_. You’re stuck in a rut, and it’s killing you slowly.”

“ _Boredom_ can’t kill me.”

“You know what I mean.” Raven heaved another sigh, a deep one that meant she was about to say something serious. “Look, Charles, I worry about you, okay? Ever since you and Moira…”

“Crashed and burned?” he offered dryly.

“Ever since you guys ended things,” Raven said evenly, “you haven’t been yourself. I think it would do you some good to get out and do something. Even if you don’t come to Cali with me and Hank, you should…I don’t know, go out to a club and pick up a hot chick or something. Don’t just go home and drink gin until you pass out.”

“Whiskey is my poison of choice these days, actually. And I’m not _that_ pathetic.” Really, he wasn’t. He was still…well, there was no denying that he was still deeply annoyed at the way things had ended between him and Moira, but he was over it. He was good at putting things behind him.

“Charles…”

“Really,” he insisted. “Do you want to come over later tonight? We can have a movie night. You, Hank, and me. I’ll even let you choose the movie.”  

Raven sighed. “Sure. What time?”

He checked his watch. “Seven? I’m going to drop by TypO before I head home.”

“Okay, fine. Hank and I will be over then.”

She hung up without further ado, and Charles slipped his phone into his pocket before going to lock up his office.

 _Depressed_. What an idea. He wasn’t depressed or bored. He was perfectly fine. He was always fine.

The drive to TypO took around half an hour with traffic, and by the time Charles arrived, it was nearly five. Since the sun was still painfully bright overhead, he pulled on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses, made sure his sleeves covered his wrist, and tugged on a pair of gloves. Pulling his wheelchair out of the backseat, he set it on the curb and transferred out of the driver’s seat into it. A couple of passerby looked as if they wanted to ask if he needed help, but he just smiled and waved at them and they continued on their way.

Since it was still early evening, TypO was sparsely crowded. Charles pulled off his sunglasses as soon as he got inside and handed his ID card to Jubilee, who was manning the front door.

“I keep telling you to get rid of that Yankees cap, Prof,” she said, pulling a face. “It’s offensive to anyone with taste.”

“And _I_ keep telling you that I don’t follow baseball in the slightest,” he replied. “It’s just an old cap Raven bought me.”

Jubilee swiped his card and handed it back to him. “Well throw it away, and I’ll get you a new one.”

“You promise?”

She patted the lectern. “It’ll be right here next time you come.”

Charles swept the Yankees cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair. “All right. It’s a deal then.” He glanced into the bar, scanning the available patrons. A few blue wristbands, a couple of red, one green. “Anyone interesting come in?”

“Got a nice yellow band here. She’s new, I think.” Turning, Jubilee pointed to a woman in her forties lingering on the edge of the room, looking wide-eyed and nervous. “That’s if you’re looking for something rare to sip. But Dimitri’s here as well, and I know you’ve sipped from him before.”  

Dimitri was Type A+, which wasn’t Charles’s favorite but it was up there on the list. He’d do.

Wheeling himself into the bar, Charles allowed his eyes a minute to adjust before reaching out and giving Dimitri the mental equivalent of a tap on the shoulder. Dimitri, who was used to such greetings by now, turned and grinned when he spotted Charles.

“Professor!” he exclaimed, striding over. “I was hoping I’d see you today. Missed you last week.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies — I got held up at work.” That was why he’d come to TypO much later than usual; normally he liked going early to beat the evening crowds. But he didn’t regret joining the nightly rush last week — Erik had been a treat.

Dimitri led him over to the nearest seats. “This girl fed from me last week — so rough. I don’t think she knew what she was doing. First time at a blood bar, I guess.”

“Well then,” Charles said as he transferred over to the couch, “I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

Dimitri liked to talk while Charles fed. He had a pleasant baritone, a plethora of stories, and an excellent sense of humor. All Charles had to ask was, “How are the kids?” and Dimitri filled their thirty-minute session with tales about how his son had just been cast as Macbeth in his school’s upcoming theater performance, how his daughter had been promoted to captain of her little league soccer team since the last captain broke her leg and had to sit out for the season, how his wife was experimenting again in the kitchen, which had left him with an upset stomach for the last two days. Toward the end of the session, as more of Charles’s venom pumped through his system, he grew quiet and sleepy, and eventually his eyes slipped closed altogether. Charles kept an eye on the timer he’d set on his phone and drew off a few seconds before the clock hit zero.

Dimitri woke after Charles had already bandaged up his arm. “Mmm,” he murmured with a slow, lazy grin. “That was good.”  

Charles smiled. His belly was pleasantly warm, and the instinct to feed had quieted. Sessions with Dimitri always left him relaxed and satisfied. “Yeah, it was. Come on, you should get home. You know your wife never likes it when you stay out too late.”

“That’s true enough,” Dimitri grunted.

Charles waited until Dimitri had polished off one of the complimentary protein bars and taken a swig of water before accompanying him over to the kiosks. They had just finished up there when Charles felt someone’s attention settle on him, as heavy as a hand on his shoulder.

“You headed out?” Dimitri asked, moving to hold the door for him.

Charles shook his head. “You go on ahead. Say hello to Deanna and the children for me.”

With a salute, Dimitri disappeared out the exit. Once he was gone, Charles turned and scanned the crowd, brows furrowed. When he spotted who was staring at him, he cocked his head in surprise and waved him over.

Erik threaded through the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. When he reached Charles, he stopped, gave Charles a long look, and said, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I got out of class early,” Erik explained, a bit defensively. “I just came over to…I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Charles smiled quizzically. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Everyone comes here for their own reasons.”

“Yeah.” Erik glanced down at his shoes for a second, then back up at Charles. “Anyway, I guess you already…I guess you’re already done here. So I’ll just…find someone else.”

“I _did_ just feed,” Charles said apologetically. He _could_ go for another session but he was fairly full and besides, he didn’t want to be late getting home in case Raven came over early.   

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll just — ” Erik scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned to look into the bar. The crowd was still thin, with only a handful of people strolling around. It was nearly rush hour though. He wouldn’t have long to wait for a session.

“Perhaps next time,” Charles said. “Good day, Erik.”

Erik nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

He turned and headed over to join the small crowd in the floor space separated from the couches. As Charles tugged on his ball cap and gloves again, he watched Erik hover uncertainly on the edge of the room, eyeing everyone who passed him. Before long, a girl who looked around Charles’s age approached him, and after a couple of minutes of conversation, he followed her to an empty couch.

Next time, Charles thought ruefully. He turned away before he could watch the girl take a bite.

*

“Anyway, that isn’t the point. The _point_ is, Episode IV is the most culturally iconic of them all. It opened up a whole new _world_. It was the beginning of everything. Without Episode IV, we wouldn’t have had anything else. Erik agrees with me…Erik? …Erik!”  

He glanced up, jerking his fingers away from his wrist guiltily. “What?”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Are you thinking about _him_ again?”

Erik glared at her. “No.”

“He’s thinking about him,” Angel said dryly. “Daydreaming about him. _Oh Charles, please, suck my blood. Suck it gooooood_.”

Without moving, Erik hurled the TV remote at her. Angel dodged it with a yell of indignation and retaliated with Kitty’s physics textbook, which banged painfully against Erik’s shin and made him yelp.

“Hey!” Kitty shouted. “That thing cost me $250!”

Angel threw up her hands. “Erik started it!”

“Can you guys please shut up?” Alex demanded from where he was lying on the floor, notes strewn around him. “I can _not_ flunk my exam tomorrow. I already bombed the last one.”

“I don’t know why you bothered coming over,” Kitty said, arching one thick eyebrow. “You knew we were planning a movie marathon. Or most of us were anyway.” She glanced over at Erik with a smirk. “Some of us are too busy pining.”

“I’m not _pining_ ,” he growled. “Seriously, I only met the guy once.”

“And yet you’ve been thinking about him for three weeks now,” Angel said. “That’s called having a crush.”

Erik huffed in exasperation. “I don’t have a _crush_ on him.”

He didn’t. Charles _had_ been on his mind, but not because Erik was _interested_ in him. It was just that Erik had been back at TypO twice since his first time with Charles, and neither occasion had lived up to that first night. The other vampires, they’d been nice enough and casual, but with them, Erik hadn’t been able to reach the…well, the _high_ that he’d gotten from being with Charles. And even though that high had been a means to an end — to a generous, $150 end — he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’d been ages since he’d felt that relaxed and comfortable. That _good_.

“You’ve been out to that blood bar three times already,” Kitty pointed out. “There’s got to be a reason.”

“Yeah, there is a reason,” Erik said. “Fast cash.” He summoned the TV remote back to his hand and flipped the channel. “Anyway, aren’t we watching something?”

Both girls shot him a knowing look but said nothing more. That was the nice thing about them: they would push and tease and mock, but they knew when to drop it. As they argued over which Star Wars movie to watch, Erik let his fingers trace over the bandage on his wrist again, which was mostly hidden by the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It had been six days since his last trip to TypO. The recommended recovery period for donors was at least three days between visits, which meant that he could go again tonight if he wanted. Would Charles be there?

Did it matter?  

“Fine,” Kitty huffed finally, throwing the remote at Angel. “Episode VI. But next time, _I_ pick the movie.”

“Fine by me,” Angel replied with a smug grin.

Even though Erik normally loved Star Wars, he couldn’t really bring himself to focus on the TV. His mind drifted, first to his mother (he really had to call her sometime this weekend), then to the Constitutional Law exam he had next Monday (he had to get his jumbled notes organized so he wouldn’t find himself scrambling Sunday night). For a while after that, he tried to keep his mind purposefully blank, staring unseeingly at the TV screen. But eventually, inevitably, his thoughts circled back to TypO. To Charles.

Fuck. He’d met the guy _once_. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t the kind of guy who fell in love — in _lust_ — at first sight. All the relationships he’d had before had taken months to build up, months before he’d gotten comfortable enough to even think about being with someone.

But this wasn’t really _attraction_ , was it? Not to Charles himself anyway. It was simple, once he thought it through: Charles had been his first time, which meant his brain now associated Charles with the frankly amazing high that had resulted, and now his brain wanted more of that. And really, why shouldn’t he have more of that? It was an effective way to relax, it cost him nothing, and best of all, he got _paid_ for it.

By the time the credits rolled, he’d made up his mind: he’d go by TypO tonight. He didn’t have anything better to do anyway, and besides, he could use the money. Finances weren’t as tight as they’d been three weeks ago, but it never hurt to have a little more wiggle room.

As the girls went about pouring themselves some wine, Alex gathered up his things, shoved them into his backpack, and said, “I give up. I’m going to study at Darwin’s.”

“You never meant to study,” Kitty said dryly. “If you did, you wouldn’t have stayed.”

“And you’re not going over to Darwin’s to study.” Angel smirked. “You’re going there to _study_.”

Alex blushed bright red, all the way to his ears. “I hate you both. Don’t even _think_ about inviting me to your party next week.”

“But who’ll make us martinis?” Kitty protested.

“Erik.”

“Erik!” Kitty gave him a disgusted look. “Erik can’t mix drinks to save his life.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you said anything!” Alex told her before disappearing out the front door.

“Sorry,” Kitty said to Erik.

Erik shrugged. “It’s true.” He loved drinks. He hated making them. “Anyway, I’m going to head out, too.”

Now they turned their smirks on him. “Going to see a certain two-thousand-year-old gentleman perhaps?” Kitty asked, arching her eyebrow.

“I have no idea how old he is,” Erik replied coolly, summoning his keys from the coffee table to his hand. “And it’s none of your business anyway.”

“It _is_ our business,” Angel retorted, twisting to look at him over the back of the couch as he shoved his shoes on. Her dark eyes lost their glint of humor. “You know blood bars can be…dangerous.”

“You _worked_ in one,” he said in exasperation.

“Yeah, and that’s how I know some places aren’t regulated properly. Some places have some really shitty management, you know. I mean, TypO’s a good place, but if you’re sampling any of the other ones — ”

“I’m not,” Erik said firmly.

Angel frowned. “Still. Just…be careful.”

He opened the door. “When am I not?”

*

TypO was crowded that night. Erik waited almost ten minutes in line before he could get checked in, and when he finally stepped into the bar, he was almost immediately swept up into the crowd. Apparently some kind of special event was going on — instead of calm jazz music, Timberlake’s _Can’t Stop the Feeling_ was blasting from the rafters, and the empty floor space by the couches was full of dancers. Erik was jostled into the middle of them for a couple of minutes before he managed to push his way out to the edge of the crowd, where things were less hectic.

There was no way he could find Charles in this crowd, if he was even here. Erik ran his powers over the throng, trying to get a sense of Charles’s wheelchair. No luck.

Damn. Well, he hadn’t come all this way for nothing. He pushed up his right sleeve, exposing the blue wristband. Might as well get paid.

Leaning against the wall behind him, he scanned the crowd as he waited for someone to approach him. Unlike most of the clubs Erik had been to, there seemed to be no age limit for the patrons here. Most of them skewed younger, but Erik spotted more than a few middle-aged clients, as well as a pair who looked to be in their sixties at least. Blood bars could be popular hangouts for anyone, even if most of society still looked down their noses at this sort of thing. Some people came for the money, like Erik. Some people came for the high, the excitement.

And some people came for something else entirely, Erik thought, eyeing a group around his age loitering by the kiosks. They all wore leather vests, but their arms were exposed, baring the thick black _V_ tattoo on their upper arms. _Vamps_ , they called themselves. Outsiders called them different, more unflattering names. Fanatics. Groupies. Wannabes. One of them, a boy with dark eyeliner, met Erik’s stare and bared his teeth in a wide grin. He must’ve been wearing fake fangs — his canines were as sharp as the real thing.

Erik tore his gaze away, thumbing the string of paperclips in his sweatshirt pocket. Ten more minutes. If no one came to him in ten minutes, he’d leave.

His eyes roved over the crowd again — then froze. He recognized the man handing his ID card to Betsy at the front door. That was the man Charles had fed from last Friday, when Erik had been too late to catch him.

Curiosity piqued, Erik watched as the man stepped into the crowd. He was tall, thickset. In his forties maybe. He wore a red band around his left wrist. Did that mean Charles was Type A? Vampires liked drinking from those whose blood types matched their own. Type O donors like Erik were a free-for-all, but vampires still preferred perfect compatibility.

If he was here, did that mean Charles was here? Or had he only been with Charles that one time, like Erik?

As Erik watched, the man struck up a conversation with one of the staff members near the front door. After a moment of hesitation, Erik skirted around the crowd toward them, stopping just within earshot.

“…fucking cold outside,” the man was saying. He had a faint accent, Russian maybe. “I wasn’t expecting it to get cold so soon.”

The girl — _Janet_ , her nametag read — shrugged. “That’s New York for you.”

The man heaved a sigh. “Don’t I know it. Lived here for twenty-six years and still not used to it.”

Janet grinned. “You’re just getting old, Dimitri.”

Dimitri rolled his eyes and stared out into the crowd. Erik turned away as he did, pretending to busy himself with his phone.

“If you’re looking for Fred,” Janet offered, “he hasn’t come in tonight. Haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks, actually. And Charles — ”

Erik jolted.

“Doesn’t come in on Thursdays,” Dimitri finished. “I know. Probably catch him tomorrow though. Just came in to unwind a bit tonight. Wife’s out of town on business. Kids having a sleepover at a friend’s. Not much for me to do at home.”

“Well get out there and dance a little. Night’s still young.”

“I look like a dancer to you?”

Janet smirked. “There’s a little dancer in everyone. Even an old man like you.”

With that, she threaded through the crowd toward the couches, no doubt heading to make rounds. Dimitri shook his head and leaned against the wall, blinking laconically, as if he was already intoxicated just by being near vampires.

Erik studied him for another long minute before finally giving in to the urge to go over. He pushed past a couple of girls dancing in their own little bubble and slid up next to Dimitri, who gave him a narrow-eyed look.

“Can’t help you,” he said, holding up his wristband.

“Actually,” Erik said, “I wanted to ask you a question. About Charles.”

Dimitri blinked. “What about him?”

“I just…” Erik paused. _What about him?_ What did he even want to know? He wasn’t even sure why Charles had been on his mind so often lately.

“I just wanted to know if you knew when I could find him here,” he said casually.  

When Dimitri turned to scrutinize him, Erik met his eyes with a hint of defiance. What did he see when he looked at Erik? A college kid seeking a thrill? An obsessed groupie like the vamps across the room? Just someone looking to take the edge off the day’s stress, like him?

Then Dimitri broke into a wide, knowing grin. “You’ve donated to him before.”

Erik resisted the urge to glance away in embarrassment. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. “Yeah.”   

“You like him.” Dimitri chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid, everyone likes him.”

“I don’t — ” Erik gritted his teeth. “Look, can you tell me when he’ll be here or not?”

Still grinning, Dimitri shook his head and gestured at the crowd. “Not tonight. It’s Dance Night. Every other Thursday. Most people come just to socialize and dance. Maybe drink a little, but not much.”

So he’d picked the wrong night to come around. Erik suppressed a sigh.

“But,” Dimitri added, “he’ll be here tomorrow, probably. He normally comes on Fridays at around four or five, after his meetings end.”

“Meetings?”

“For work. He’s a professor over at Columbia.”

A professor? Erik’s brows furrowed in surprise. He wouldn’t have pegged Charles as a professor; he looked too young, only three or four years older than Erik at most. But he supposed that was as good a career for a vampire as any — vamps preferred nighttime work, or work that kept them indoors for most of the day. The less they saw of the sun, the better.

Well, there was no point in hanging around, not if Charles wasn’t going to be here and no one else was looking to drink either. Shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, Erik muttered, “Thanks. I should get going.”

Dimitri smirked and gave him a brief, two-fingered salute. “Good luck, kid.”

*

After struggling through the weekly soul-sucking faculty meeting, Charles considered skipping his usual trip to TypO and heading straight home for a long, much-deserved nap. But he hadn’t had any fresh blood all week long, and in the end, thirst won out over exhaustion. He wasn’t starving, but having a taste sounded heavenly, like indulging in a glass of wine after a long day. One of his regulars would probably be there. And maybe, he thought idly, he’d see Erik again.

The thirst of the last few weeks had been an odd kind that he didn’t quite understand. His customary visits to TypO hadn’t changed, but for some reason, the quality of them had. The last time he’d spent an afternoon with Dimitri, he’d left sated, but the feeling had faded more quickly than it usually did. He’d been thirsty again the very next day, and tossing back three bottles of Red Booster hadn’t helped. Red Booster, unpleasant as it tasted, never failed to take the edge off.

At least, it had never failed before.  

Maybe he was sick? It was unlikely but not impossible. Human blood contained all manner of bacteria, viruses, pathogens. Normally a vampire’s metabolism burned any unwanted, potentially dangerous contaminants away, but sometimes, rarely, a vampire could still fall ill. Charles’s paralysis didn’t help matters — circulation in his legs was poor, which made him more susceptible to disease. So it wasn’t unfathomable that he’d caught…well, a cold of some sort.

Frowning, Charles unlocked his car, transferred in, and hauled his wheelchair into the back. At least it was a cloudy, relatively dim afternoon, which meant he could forego the baseball cap and gloves. Small mercies.

By the time he reached TypO, the bar was already fairly crowded for a Friday afternoon. He had to circle the block twice before he could find any parking; some asshole without a permit had parked neatly in one of the two handicapped spaces, so Charles had to make do with a spot further down the street. He was just getting out of his car when he felt someone’s eyes settle on him.

Across the street under a green awning, Erik was standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the afternoon’s slight chill. It was clear that he’d been loitering across from TypO for a while — waiting for something? Or someone?

Charles cocked his head. After a moment, Erik detached himself from the wall under the awning, waited until a cab zoomed past, and then crossed the street.

“Hi,” he said coolly.

“Hi,” Charles returned, glancing him over. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for me, would you?”

“Actually,” Erik said, then stopped. Embarrassment flared across his mind, hot and red. He jerked his head in TypO’s direction and asked, “You going in?”

Charles locked his car. “Yes.”

Together, they made their way down the street. As they neared TypO, a tall Asian woman stepped out of the bar and held the door when she spotted them. Charles blinked in surprise when he recognized her.

“Agnes!” he exclaimed, smiling. “I didn’t know you were back in New York.”

“Only for the week,” Agnes said, smiling warmly back. For a woman in her sixties, she looked remarkable. “I’m visiting a few of my children. Henry — you remember Henry? — he’s graduated from Cornell, and Linh — you remember Linh, don’t you? — she has a whole family in Brooklyn now. I came up for Henry’s graduation and I’m staying to see some old friends.”

“Of course. Send them my best, will you?”

“I will.” Agnes’s eyes traced Erik up and down, curious. When she directed an interrogative look at Charles, he merely returned her gaze until her smile widened. “All right then. It was good to see you, Charles.”

“Look me up if you’ve got any time this week,” he told her. “We should get coffee.”

“I’d be delighted.”

She held the door long enough for Charles to wheel himself in and for Erik to follow. Then it swung shut behind them, and the soft jazz swallowed up the street noise outside.

The line was fairly short, but someone up ahead of them was here for the first time and Betsy was busy getting them an ID card. Erik fidgeted as they waited, clearly uncomfortable with the silence but unsure of what to say. Finally, he glanced back at the door and asked, “Who was she?”

“An old friend.”

“How old?”

Charles chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve known her since 1910.”

Erik’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” He scuffed his shoe against the wood paneled floor, his mind as restless as his body. After another pause, he said, “I thought vampires couldn’t procreate.”

It took Charles a moment to follow the segue. “Oh, we can’t. Agnes runs an orphanage. She calls everyone there her children, and really, they might as well be. She’s the only mother many of them have.”

“I see.”

“Next!” Betsy called.

Charles presented his ID card even though he hardly needed to, since all the staff here knew him anyway. Once he was through, he went on ahead to procure a couch, confident Erik would follow him. Once he’d settled on one of the comfier sofas near the back, one of the staff members — Molly, who was human and working here part-time to help pay for college — came over to ask if he wanted anything off the menu.

He thought about getting a snack — they had blood chocolates here, and even though most human food tasted bland and unsatisfying, Charles _was_ still fond of the sweet and spicy jalapeno peppers TypO’s kitchen excelled at — but then he saw Erik threading through the crowd toward him and said, “Could you just bring the usual donor package please?”

As she disappeared, Erik came to a stop at the end of the sofa, his jaw working.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Charles asked, when it was obvious Erik was waiting for an invitation. “It’s much safer that way.”

Erik exhaled and sat. “You’re not going to scope out other donors?”

“I came in with you.” Charles paused. “Do you _want_ me to scope out other donors?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

“Well…” Erik’s gaze skimmed through the crowd. The jazz music had been turned up a bit, and a few couples were slow-dancing on the floor. “I see a few red wristbands out there.”

“Type A is certainly one of my favorites but not the favorite.” Charles cocked his head. “How did you know I liked it?”

“Your friend Dimitri.”

Ah, right. Erik must have seen Dimitri’s red wristband the last time they’d run into each other.

Erik leaned back on the couch and gave Charles a scrutinizing look. “So what blood type _are_ you then?”

“Type O, like you.”

For a long moment, Erik said nothing, just sat there and tugged one finger under his blue wristband. Charles was content to let Erik take his time; he wasn’t in any hurry anyway, and it was his policy to wait for donors to work through whatever they needed to work through before taking a session. Blood always tasted less pleasing when the donor was too stressed out or having second thoughts, and Charles didn’t like anything other than full consent. He wasn’t that kind of vampire, hadn’t been in a long time.

Finally, Erik shoved up his sleeve and offered his arm. “Fifteen minutes?”

Charles set the clock on his phone and set it face-up on the seat beside him. “How many vampires have you been with since me?”

“Two.”

“Ah, so you’re practically a veteran by now.” He took Erik’s arm and pushed his sleeve up a little further, running his thumb over Erik’s pulse point. “Ready?”  

Erik met his eyes steadily. “Yes.”

There were still some fading marks from the last time someone had fed from Erik. Charles bit down over them, fangs sinking easily into skin. Though Erik was much less tense than his first time, his forearm was still a little tight, straining to hold still and fight the natural reflex to yank his arm away from the pain. Charles held him firmly, and a few seconds later, Erik’s entire body went lax, succumbing to the venom. He melted into the couch, eyelids fluttering.

Lethargic like this, almost asleep, Erik looked younger, closer to his actual age. His perpetual frown smoothed away, as did the crease between his eyebrows. In all this time, Charles had never seen him smile. Was he always so serious? Charles wondered. Or was he only so tense and stiff when he was here, among vampires?

The rich burst of flavor in his mouth slowly blotted those thoughts out. The more Charles sipped, the more he became aware that Erik was…delicious. Absolutely _mouth-watering_. It was as if every donor Charles had taken between Erik’s first time and now had been some slightly off, sugar-free facsimile of a chocolate cake, and Erik was the real damn thing. Gripping his arm tightly, Charles dug in, surprised by his own hunger. Now that he’d tasted Erik again, it was hard to believe he’d settled for anything less. Erik’s blood was _exquisite._ Had it tasted like this, the first time? How could Charles not have noticed? It seemed impossible to believe that he hadn’t been just as stunned at his first taste of Erik as he was now.  

The alarm, when it went off, startled him. Charles came back to himself with a jolt, the daze that had settled over him vanishing. Strange. He never drifted when he drank from someone; it was too easy to get lost, too easy to forget control and moderation. Puzzled, he drew off of Erik’s arm, silenced the alarm, and reached for the handkerchief Molly had left folded on the table.

By the time Erik’s eyes fluttered back open, Charles had bandaged up his wrist and cracked open a water bottle for him. Erik’s grip was so weak that Charles had to hold the bottle to his mouth, and when Charles offered one of the protein bars, Erik shook his head and said hoarsely, “In…in a sec.”

Charles noted his pale complexion with a pang of concern. “I’m sorry, I must have gotten a little carried away. How are you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?”

Erik blinked slowly at him. “Umm…”

After a moment of deliberation, Charles touched Erik’s arm. _Would it be easier to talk this way?_

Erik’s mind was as lethargic and sleepy as the rest of him, but it took much less energy to think than to speak. _Yeah,_ he said, after a long, surprised pause. _Sorry, I’m not used to…_

 _Having someone in your head,_ Charles finished. _Not many people are. If you’re uncomfortable with it, I’ll leave immediately._

 _No, it’s…fine._ And there truly wasn’t any horror or revulsion in Erik’s head, only a natural wariness. Erik drifted for a couple of minutes, his thoughts vague and ill-defined. Then, with an effort, he said, _This feels different from the first time._

Charles pressed an apology to Erik’s mind. _I drank more than I should have. I’m sorry._

 _No…it feels good_.

A pleasant fog blanketed Erik’s thoughts, warm and thick and cloying. It seemed a bit overwhelming but not dangerous. His pulse, when Charles touched his fingers to Erik’s clean wrist, was slow but steady.  

 _It’s the venom_ , Charles told him. _And the blood loss, of course_. _It should wear off in a few minutes. I’ll stay with you until then._

 _Thanks_ , Erik said with an effort, then lapsed into a hazy silence. 

It was nearly ten minutes before energy seemed to return to Erik’s limbs. He sat up shakily and drank more water, thirstily guzzling the rest of the bottle. This time when Charles offered a protein bar, Erik took it.

“That was…something,” he said between slow bites.

“Yes,” Charles said, brows furrowed. “It was.”

He hadn’t expected to have such a strong reaction to Erik’s blood. What had that been? Blood lust? But he’d been nowhere near starving. Perhaps it was a product of Charles’s odd cold? But why would that cause Erik’s blood to taste especially good? It didn’t make any sense.

A touch on his shoulder drew his attention. “Is everything all right here?” Molly asked, glancing over at Erik with a hint of concern.

Despite the sudden, uneasy feeling in his gut, Charles said, “Yes, we’re fine.”

“You seemed a little slow getting up,” Molly said to Erik. “Are you feeling okay?”

Erik nodded lethargically. “Fine.”

“Okay.” She fished another couple of protein bars from her belt and set them on the table. “Eat up before you go. You’re looking a little green. I’ll get you another water bottle, too.”

“Thank you,” Charles told her. Turning back to Erik, he busied himself with tearing open the wrapper of another protein bar and said, “I’m truly very sorry about this. I promise I’m normally very strict with myself about how much I drink. I don’t really know what came over myself just now. Here, eat up. It’ll help with the faintness.”

“I’m fine,” Erik said, but he accepted the second protein bar with protest. Thankfully, some color was returning to his cheeks, and his eyes had lost the glazed-over look. “Really,” he added when Charles continued to scrutinize his expression, “I feel great, actually.”

“That’s the venom talking,” Charles said, frowning. He checked Erik’s pulse again and found it stronger than before. That was reassuring.

What _wasn’t_ reassuring was the steadily growing urge to press Erik’s newly-bandaged wrist to his mouth and bite down again. Logically, Charles knew that he was full, that he’d already consumed more than enough to quell his hunger, and yet his fangs itched for another feeding. For another taste of Erik’s unsettlingly delicious blood.

Disconcerted, he shifted away from Erik and grabbed onto the thoughts of the patrons around them, relying on the jumbled clamor of their minds to provide a welcome distraction. For a couple of minutes, he skated through their surface thoughts, using the familiar buzz of white noise to steady himself. _Get a grip_. _It doesn’t matter how delicious his blood is — you’re not a bloody newborn, so control yourself, for god’s sake._

“Charles?”

He pulled back to himself with a snap. “What?”

Erik gestured vaguely at the exit. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

“How are you feeling?” Charles glanced him over. He certainly seemed much steadier than he had ten minutes ago. At least he no longer looked like one hefty breeze would snap him right in half. “Can you stand?”

Erik climbed to his feet with only a slight wobble. “I feel fine, really.”

Charles eyed him dubiously. “All right.” He pulled his chair closer, transferred over to it, and unlocked the brakes. “Shall we?”

Erik was an old pro at the checkout process now, swiping his card and entering their session details into the kiosk without a pause. Still a bit discombobulated, Charles patted his jacket, trying to remember where he’d put his wallet. Then he felt a tug at his left, and when he looked, he found his wallet neatly extracting itself from his side pocket.

When he turned a wondering look up at Erik, Erik shrugged, obviously trying to smother a pleased grin at Charles’s expression. “Sorry. I’m naturally impatient.”

Charles plucked his wallet from where it was hovering by his arm. “How did you do that?”

“You have a few coins in there,” Erik replied. He wiggled his fingers, and the coins jumped, threatening to pull the wallet out of Charles’s grip.

Charles grinned in delight. “Fascinating.”

Erik flushed and turned to glance over at the exit in an obvious attempt to hide it. Charles hid his smile; sometimes he forgot how innocently charming some humans could be.

He swiped his credit card and entered in a 75% tip because he figured Erik could use the money and because he felt bad about drinking more than he should have and leaving Erik so woozy. When he hit _finish_ , the kiosk beeped serenely and told him to have a nice day.

“So,” Erik said, hands pushed into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

Charles began to wheel for the exit, slowly so Erik would know to follow. “So.”

Erik didn’t say anything more, though Charles could sense that he was conflicted. They dodged around a group of vamps loitering by the dance floor and skirted around a couple of low tables littered with snacks and napkins. Erik hurried on ahead to hold the door, and even though it was polite gesture anyone with manners would have offered, Charles found it oddly sweet, coming from Erik.

“Where did you park?” Charles asked, tugging on his gloves to ward off the cold. Winter was coming on fast, the days rapidly growing shorter and colder. Charles wasn’t looking forward to frosty wheels and icy sidewalks.

“I took the train,” Erik answered.

“Oh. All right. Well — ”

“You come here every Friday?” Erik blurted out.  

Charles blinked. “Almost every Friday, yes.”

“Can I — ” Erik’s jaw worked for a moment. “Can we meet up next week? Make this…I don’t know, a regular thing or something?” He exhaled explosively, blushing. “I’m not trying to make this weird or anything, it’s just that it’s…better, with you. God, that sounds really fucking creepy but it’s true. Today was…”

Half a dozen adjectives cycled through his head in quick succession, and Charles agreed with all of them. Today _had_ been unexpected, and incredible, and amazing. Charles had no idea what on earth had happened in there, but he knew he had to drink from Erik again. He had to know if tonight had been some bizarre fluke or if he and Erik were somehow peculiarly compatible.

“Yes,” Charles said finally. “I’d like that. I’ll see you next week at five then?”

Erik stared down at him in shock. It was clearly the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, wide-eyed. “Five.”

Charles smiled and held out his hand. “It was good to see you again, Erik.”

Erik’s fingers were warm and comfortable against Charles’s cooler skin. “Next week then.”

A welter of emotion spilled across their physical contact. Relief. Confusion. Excitement. Erik was already thinking of next week, of clearing the tentative Friday night plans he’d already set. _Kitty’s going to be so fucking smug, she’s going to want to know everything —_

Charles pulled his hand away ruefully and raised his shields, blocking out the murmur of even Erik’s surface thoughts. “Goodnight, Erik.”

Pushing his hands into his pockets, Erik nodded. “Goodnight.”

*

After the kiddush at the synagogue, Erik followed his mother back to her place for lunch. She’d put on a cholent to slow-cook overnight, and Erik nearly fainted in delight as the delicious smell of it struck him full in the face as soon as the door opened.

“This is why you should visit me more often,” his mother said wryly once she caught the expression on his face.

“I really should,” he agreed, toeing off his shoes in the hallway. “I’m sorry I haven’t been coming by lately. I’ve been really busy with school and the youth center stuff and…”

He bit his lip. His mother didn’t need to know about his trips to TypO. It would only make her anxious to know how he’d been shoring up his finances in the last couple of months.

These last three weeks, it had become a routine: Friday afternoons, he’d get off class at 2:30, spend the next hour on a run, stop home to shower and eat a high-protein snack, and then head over to TypO. More often than not, he’d beat Charles there and settle down in their usual couch in the back corner underneath a generic painting of the sea (Charles was sure it was the Pacific, but Erik couldn’t see how he’d come to that conclusion). Sooner or later, Charles would arrive, they’d make a bit of small talk, Charles would take Erik’s wrist, and then... _bliss_.

There was really no other word for it. No other word for the way Erik’s body would go completely lax, the way his brain would turn deliciously hazy and blank, the way all his anxieties and cares and frustrations would simply _disappear_. He was well aware of the fact that people got addicted to the therapeutic properties of vampire venom, and now he completely understood why.

“Are you all right, dear?” his mother asked as she stirred the cholent. “You seem distracted.”

“Classes,” Erik said. He busied himself with pulling bowls and silverware from the cabinets. “I have an exam on Monday.”

“For what class?”

“Mutant History.”

His mother scoffed. “You’re worried about that? Darling, you probably know more about mutant history than your professor does.”

“Probably,” Erik muttered. Thompson was an idiot who had most likely found his doctorate in a cereal box.

His mother transferred the food over to the small, round kitchen table and gestured for him to follow. “Come. Sit. Tell me about your life. You haven’t been very good about keeping me in the loop lately, dear.”

Inhaling the aroma of the cholent, Erik made a pleased noise as he took his seat. “There’s not much to tell, Mama. Everything’s business as usual.”

She slanted a sly look at him. “Is that so?”

Erik paused, frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You seemed distracted this morning.” His mother began to ladle out the cholent, one bowl for him, a smaller one for herself. “And Kitty said — ”

Erik groaned. Kitty and his mother had always gotten on like a house on fire. Keeping them apart was nearly impossible since they frequented the same synagogue, but he’d _told_ Kitty not to breathe a word to his mother about anything. “Kitty? How many times to I have to tell her _not_ to gossip with you?”

“We don’t _gossip_ ,” his mother harrumphed. “We talk. Sometimes we even talk about you. This morning happened to be one of those times. Now, she didn’t say anything directly, but she might have hinted that you…” She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching in a grin. “...met someone?”

Erik resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. He owed Kitty an _extremely_ strongly-worded text later. “I haven’t met anyone. Not really. Kind of.”

“Not really?” his mother said dryly. “Or kind of?”

“It’s nothing,” Erik growled, wishing he could dissolve into his cholent. And really, it _wasn’t_ anything. So he thought he might have a tiny crush on Charles — so what? It wasn’t going anywhere. Erik knew how tenuous mortal-vampire relationships could be, and there was no way he was going to submit himself to that shitstorm.

Besides — more importantly — Charles wasn’t interested. There was nothing Erik could do about that.

“Fine.” His mother smiled serenely. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“It really isn’t anything,” Erik insisted, and scooped up a huge mouthful of cholent before she could say anything else.

After lunch, he washed the dishes while his mother divvied up the leftovers. Once that was done, she shooed him home with a tupperware container and an umbrella. “It’s supposed to storm,” she said, hurrying him out the door. “Be careful, dear. I don’t want you getting caught in the rain.”

“I’ll see you next week,” he promised.

“I know,” she huffed. “You can’t stay away from my cooking for long.”

The sky grew steadily and ominously darker the whole train ride home. Erik had barely dodged into his apartment building when lightning cracked directly above him and raindrops began to pelt the sidewalk outside, driving everyone on the street into cover. Staring out at the black sky, Erik sighed. It looked like it was going to be a thoroughly dismal afternoon.

He checked his mailbox on the way to the stairs and sorted through the letters as he climbed up to his floor. Almost all of it was just junk mail that he dumped into the community recycling bin by the elevator at the end of his hall. The remaining two envelopes were bills that he tucked under his arm to deal with later.

Neither Azazel nor Janos were home, so Erik fed the cat, took out the trash, and put the tupperware container in the fridge. He was just collapsing down onto the couch when his phone buzzed. Absently, he tugged it out of his coat pocket with his powers while he searched for the TV remote.

Once he’d found it (squeezed between two couch cushions, predictably enough) and opened up Netflix, he glanced down at the name on his screen — and froze.

CHARLES XAVIER

Erik’s heart skipped several beats. Charles was texting him? On a Saturday? They’d exchanged numbers to coordinate their visits to TypO, but aside from the Friday afternoon _I’m almost there_ messages, they didn’t text. They didn’t talk. But apparently they _did_ because Charles’s name was right there in the notification screen of Erik’s phone, waiting to be clicked on.  

He sat there dazed for nearly a full minute before his brain finally sparked feebly back to life. Bewildered, he unlocked his phone and clicked on Charles’s text.

_Hello, Erik! I hope I’m not interrupting your weekend. I just want to let you know that you left your scarf at TypO yesterday._

Erik’s gaze shot over to the hatrack in the hall. No scarf on its usual peg. How could he have forgotten it?

Charles’s text continued: _I picked it up for you, and I’ll hold it until next Friday. That is, unless you need it earlier? I can meet you somewhere to return it to you if you’d like._

For a long minute, all Erik could do was stare down at his phone, his heart racing as if he’d just sprinted three miles. On the one hand, he had plenty of scarves — he’d gone through an extensive knitting phase freshman year when he’d been restless and homesick all the time, and one corner of his closet was stuffed full of his creations. The one he’d forgotten at TypO hadn’t even been his favorite, so he didn’t really care if Charles ended up keeping it. Plenty more where that came from.

On the other hand, the thought of seeing Charles again _now_ instead of in six more days was terribly exciting. And while Erik was a man of many virtues, patience definitely wasn’t one of them.

 _we can meet up somewhere if you want? i’m free now,_ he typed out. He started to press _send_ , then dragged his finger away hurriedly to negate it. What was he thinking? It was fucking pouring outside, and it would probably be hell for Charles to travel anywhere in this weather. Besides, Erik wasn’t too keen on diving out into the downpour himself.

He checked the weather app, then sent: _are you free around 6? rain’s supposed to clear up by then. i’ll come to you._

There. Short and sweet and casual.

Erik put down his phone and forced himself to browse through the Netflix selection, even though absolutely nothing looked appealing at the moment, not even _Law and Order: Mutant Crimes,_ which was his go-to feel-good show. He was hyper aware of the clock that hung over by the kitchen entrance, his every sense attuned to each _tick...tick...tick_ of the metal hands. What was taking Charles so long to answer? Had Erik seemed too eager to meet? Too weird? Hadn’t his text been benign, even bland? Maybe Charles’s phone was on silent? Maybe he was asleep? Maybe —

The brassy blare of the _Star Wars_ opening theme nearly gave Erik a heart attack. Fumbling for his phone, he stared down at the screen.

_Charles Xavier is calling…_

Swallowing hard, Erik swiped to accept the call. His voice came out miraculously steady. “Hello?”

“Hello, Erik,” came Charles’s warm, rich voice. “I’m sorry — I’m not very good at texting. I figured it would be easier just to call.”

Erik suppressed a grin. “So it’s true that vampires are terrible with technology?” It was always a running gag in TV and movies — things that could reliably foil a vampire: garlic, a cross, anything more technologically advanced than a typewriter.

“Sadly, some stereotypes are true,” Charles said wryly. “In any case, I’m quite free this evening if you’d like to stop by. I’d meet you halfway, but the weather’s rather dismal and it can be — well, an inconvenience to travel in wet streets with my wheelchair, as you can imagine.”

“Yeah,” Erik said. “Of course. Where should I meet you?”

“I’m at home right now, so if you wouldn’t mind coming here, I’ll give you my address.”

“Oh.” Erik blew out a breath. Charles’s _house_. That was way more private a meeting place than he’d been expecting but…well, he was only going to drop by for his scarf. Did it really matter if it was Charles’s place? “Okay.”

“Have you got a pen?”

Charles rattled off an address in the Upper West Side, which Erik scribbled down on a napkin from the coffee table. “If it’s too far for you, I can always meet you someplace tomorrow,” Charles added. “I checked the weather — tomorrow should be nice and sunny, so the streets will be dry.”

“No,” Erik said hurriedly. “It’s fine. I’m...running a few errands in the area anyway.”

“Oh. Well, perfect. Give the doorman my name and he’ll let you in.”

“Okay.” Erik chewed on the end of his pen. “See you at six then?”

“I’ll see you then.”

His heart continued to race after the call ended, thudding thunderously in his ears. Erik sat there numbly for several long minutes and then sank back into the couch with a groan.

He liked Charles. He had a massive fucking crush on Charles, and he had no idea what the fuck he was going to do about it. What _could_ he do about it? Charles was at least a hundred years old, possibly two, and Erik was twenty-one. Charles probably considered him a baby, literally, which was kind of disturbing and mostly depressing, because why the fuck would Charles be interested in a baby? Besides, for all Erik knew, Charles had a girlfriend already, or a boyfriend, or maybe he had a string of lovers and an allergy to commitment, or maybe he was asexual and aromantic and Erik was just wasting his goddamn time.

He ran a hand roughly over his face and released a long, slow breath. Fuck.

*

Six o’clock found Erik loitering on the street across from Charles’s building, staring up at the white-gray stone façade and wondering just how terrifyingly rich Charles was. He’d known Charles was well-off — TypO was a relatively upscale bar, and Charles didn’t seem too preoccupied with money, what with his propensity for giving Erik ridiculous tips and all — but this building was solidly upper class. Kind of intimidatingly so.

Erik eyed the wrought-iron doors. He was going to go in, grab his scarf, and go home. Nothing nerve-wracking about it.

Still, his stomach was full of butterflies as he crossed the street. When he gave Charles’s name at the entrance, the doorman held the door for him and said, “The elevators are on your left. You have Dr. Xavier’s apartment number?”

“680.”

“That’s right. Come in.”

As he stepped in, Erik tried not to stare too obviously at the massive gold-and-crystal chandelier hanging high above the front door. The lobby was simply but richly decorated, with elegant gray sofas, slim wooden tables topped with vases of white flowers, and several enormous paintings of the picturesque New York City skyline. The soles of Erik’s boots rapped sharply against the expansive marble floor as he headed for the elevators, which were pleasingly solid to Erik’s senses and had doors of polished brass. What must rent be like in a building like this? He couldn’t even imagine.

He rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, walked down a short hallway, and then spent a minute trying to figure out whether he should turn right or left at the split. He took a wrong turn, doubled back, and was just starting to get frustrated when a door down the hall popped open, and Charles stuck his head out.

“Hello, Erik,” he said, smiling as he waved. “I heard you circling around a couple of times and figured I’d come out and find you.”

“This place is a maze,” Erik grumbled, coming over to him.

“It does take a while to get used to,” Charles agreed. “Come in, come in. Do you want some tea? I just put the kettle on.”

There went the idea of just picking up his scarf and leaving, Erik thought. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered chaotically. “Sure.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Charles said as he wheeled into the kitchen. The countertops, Erik noticed, were set low enough for him to reach everything easily. “I’m sorry for making you come to me. I would have met you halfway if it hadn’t rained so terribly earlier.”

“That’s okay.”

“Did you finish all your errands?”

“What?” Erik stared blankly at him for a moment before remembering that he’d lied and said he’d be in the neighborhood. “Oh yeah. Yeah. All done.”

“Good. I hope you weren’t out and about in the rain for long. It’s dreadful outside.”

“Not long, no.”

The kettle shrieked, and Charles lifted it off the stove. He had two mugs set out on the counter, a blue one that read COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY and a second, white one that looked like it had a child’s crayon drawing on it. When Charles caught Erik staring at the second one, he smiled wryly and said, “This was a gift from my nephew Kurt. He’s long since passed the crayons phase, but he used to love coloring on everything. I have some of his artwork displayed in the living room.”

“Nephew?” Erik echoed in surprise.

“He’s adopted. My sister’s. She’s — well.” Digging two teabags out from a box, Charles huffed a laugh. “She’s honestly the last person you’d ever suspect of having a soft spot for children, but she’s full of surprises, Raven is. She found Kurt ten years ago and hasn’t let go of him since. They’ve been good for each other.”

Crossing his arms, Erik leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched as Charles poured steaming water into both mugs. “Your sister. She’s adopted, too, I’m guessing?”

“You’d guess right. I met Raven in 1846 in London. We had a bit of a rocky start — she was doing her best to steal my house, as well as every last penny I had.” Charles paused with a rueful smile. “A story for another time, really. Long story short, we overcame our differences and became allies. Eventually she became family.”

“1846.” Erik pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep from fidgeting. “Is it rude for me to ask how old you are?”

Charles laughed. “Not at all. I was born in 1757. I turn 259 next month.”

Two hundred fifty-nine. Erik’s head spun. Still, he supposed it could’ve been worse. Dr. Farouk, the self-styled “vampire Dr. Phil” whose terrible show dominated the midday TV hours, was supposedly close to six hundred. At least Charles wasn’t half a millennia old.

Erik swallowed. “You look…”

“Twenty-five?” Charles’s eyes sparkled with good humor. “What can I say? I have a baby face.” He pulled the teabags from the mugs, threw them away, and opened a half-full container of sugar. Tipping a generous spoonful into the Columbia University mug, he stirred and said, “I suppose I’m lucky I wasn’t turned when I was twenty, or even younger. I would’ve been cursed to look like a thirteen-year-old for all eternity.”

Erik grinned. “You kind of look like a thirteen-year-old now.”

“How dare you,” Charles said sternly, though the slightest curve of his lips betrayed his amusement. He pushed the white mug to Erik. “Sugar?”

“No thanks.” Carefully, Erik picked up the mug and held it between his hands, sighing as the warmth seeped through his palms. “So…can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Vampires can heal from any injury, right?”

“Aside from a stake to the heart, yes.”

“Then why the wheelchair?”

“I thought that might be your question.” Charles ran a hand lightly along one wheel. “My injury occurred before I was turned. As it turns out, vampirism doesn’t cure preexisting disabilities.”

“Injury?”

“I was a soldier. I fought in the Revolutionary War.” Charles tapped his chair with a wry smile. “As you can see, I didn’t escape unscathed. I can’t complain though — many people I knew weren’t as fortunate.”

Erik stared at him. “You fought in the Revolutionary War? As in the American Revolutionary War? The War of Independence?”

“Yes.” Charles sipped at his tea. “Is that really so surprising? I’m British by birth. I was eighteen when the war began. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

“You’re right,” Erik said dryly. “It’s completely unsurprising that you took shots at George Washington.”  

“Oh no,” Charles said quickly. “I fought for the rebels — well, for the Americans. Early on, my father moved to Pennsylvania and quickly became quite involved with everything American. Years later, I followed in suit, and when the war began, I took up arms with the colonists. Much to the chagrin of my mother, of course — she was horrified when she found out.”

Erik struggled to keep his head from exploding. “You knew the Founding Fathers.”  

“Most of them only by reputation. I _did_ get to meet Benjamin Franklin once. Quite the character, that man. And later on, after the war, I had the pleasure of working briefly with Alexander Hamilton.”

“You worked with Alexander Hamilton.” Erik released an incredulous breath. “You might officially be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

‘“Might?’” Charles teased.

“Only behind Prince.”

Now it was Charles’s turn to look amazed. “You’ve met Prince?”

“Well, my mother did, so I’ve practically met him.” It had been years and years ago, but his mother still occasionally told stories from that one glorious evening. Erik wasn’t sure if she’d actually met Prince or if she'd maybe ingested some psychedelic drugs and spent the night tripping balls. Her memories of Prince were so bizarre, he was sometimes inclined to believe it had all been LSD.

Charles laughed. “Fair enough.”

Once they finished their tea, Charles led Erik over to the living room, where Erik’s scarf — purple and red and patchy in places where he’d missed stitches — sat on the coffee table. “Here you are,” Charles said, handing it over. “Thank you for coming all this way, and for having tea with me. It was lovely talking with you, Erik.”

Erik tried to tamp down on the disappointment that rose up at the realization that the evening was drawing to a close. “Sure. Thanks for picking up my scarf for me.”

“Of course.”

Charles accompanied him to the front door and gave him directions back to the elevators. “If you get lost,” Charles said, smiling, “you have my number. Take care, Erik. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Right.” Erik turned and waved as he headed down the hall. “Friday. Don’t be late!”

“I’m never late!” Charles replied indignantly, and Erik laughed.

*

“I have a theory,” Charles said, the next time they met. It was six in the afternoon, and Erik was lying half-asleep on the couch, everything hazy and warm and very pleasant. Charles’s words filtered in slowly, first registering as sounds, then as syllables, then as words with meaning. It took effort to understand him, but Erik made a valiant attempt.

Wiping his mouth thoroughly with the complimentary handkerchief, Charles grinned. “Perhaps I’ll tell you in a few minutes. You seem rather…out of it.”

“Mmmm,” Erik agreed, and promptly fell asleep.

When he woke up, the crowd around them was significantly louder, and the soft jazz music had been switched over to something with a deep, popping bassline. Jerking up, he panicked for a second until he remembered where he was and who he was with. Erik twisted his wrist to get a look at his watch — 6:58.  

Charles was still sitting next to him, texting. When he noticed Erik was awake, he put his phone down immediately, smiled, and said something unintelligible.

“What?” Erik shouted over the music.

Charles’s mouth twisted sheepishly and he tapped at his temple. When Erik nodded, Charles’s voice filtered in. _Back with us?_

Erik focused on forming each word of his reply clearly and concisely. He’d been practicing, since the first few times he’d tried to project, he’d ended up giving Charles a headache. _Yeah. Sorry I fell asleep._

_No worries. I could tell you could use the nap._

_Yeah_. Erik glanced at the rapidly swelling dance floor. If it got any more crowded in here, it’d be a chore for Charles to push through the throng to get to the kiosks and the exit. _Want to get out of here before it gets any busier?_  

Charles pulled his chair closer. _I thought you’d never ask._

They put in their session details at a kiosk, swiped their cards, and then pushed their way through the double doors and out into the much calmer night outside. As soon as the doors swung shut again behind them, muffling the churning racket of the crowd and the music, Erik relaxed.

“Not a fan of crowds?” Charles asked.

“Not really.” Erik didn’t like being pressed in on all sides; it always made him feel mildly claustrophobic.

“If you want a snack, I have some in my car,” Charles offered after a moment. “Since you fell asleep before you got a chance to eat anything in there.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m not dizzy or anything.”

“Well, do you want a ride home?”

Pulling on his scarf, Erik shook his head. “I’ll just take the train.” It wasn’t too long a ride, and besides, he didn’t want to put Charles out of his way.

But Charles said, “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. We could discuss it here on the street, but the car’s warmer.”

Something Charles wanted to talk to him about. That sounded ominous. When Erik gave him a wary look, Charles laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing terrible. It’s just…well, come on, I’ll give you a ride home and we’ll talk.”

Erik watched his breath plume white in front of his nose for a moment before nodding. It _was_ cold, and he wasn’t really looking forward to trudging through train stations anyway. Hands tucked into his armpits for warmth, Erik followed Charles to his car, a sleek blue Lexus that practically _purred_ when Erik ran his powers over it. Damn, he thought admiringly. The perks of being rich.

“I’d offer to let you take it for a spin,” Charles said with a grin, “but everything’s already set up for me. Maybe next time.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, Erik noted the hand controls by the steering wheel that made the pedals accessible. “Yeah, sure.”

Charles transferred into the car with practiced ease, folding up his chair and stowing it in the backseat. Turning the key in the ignition, he glanced over at Erik. “Seatbelt on? Good. What’s your address? Just put it in my phone and we’ll be off.”

Once the map had been pulled up, Charles turned smoothly onto the street and started off. For a few minutes, Erik rested his hand against the door and simply enjoyed the humming of the Lexus, every piece of it working in perfect synchrony. He loved expensive cars, loved how luxurious and _smooth_ they felt to his senses. There was nothing quite like a well-built machine.

“Fascinating,” Charles murmured.

Erik blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to listen in, but you were projecting just a little.” Charles grinned and tapped the steering wheel. “I’ve never felt a power like yours before. The way you see the world, the way you see this car — it’s incredible.”

“Thanks.” Erik forced himself not to preen, but he couldn’t completely stifle the swell of pride. Charles thought he was _incredible_. Erik’s mutation had been called a lot of things over the years, but not that, not very often.

“So how’s the car?” Charles asked. “Running smoothly?”

“Beautifully.”

“You know, if you weren’t going into law, you might’ve made a killing as a mechanic.”

“I thought about it,” Erik told him. “Becoming a mechanic, I mean. I love cars and motorcycles. My dad worked as a mechanic for a while when I was a kid, and I got to work in the shop with him a few times. But…” He shrugged. “I guess I felt like I could do more good as a lawyer. Haven’t looked back since.”

“Take it from someone who’s sampled literally dozens of careers over his lifetime,” Charles said wryly. “If it makes you happy, do it. If it doesn’t, there’s no harm in looking elsewhere.”

“Studying law makes me happy.” Erik paused, then added, “Arguing with people makes me happy.”

Charles laughed. “Then I’d say you’re on the right track. I tried lawyering once in the early 1890s. One of my shortest careers, actually.”

“Not for you?”

“ _Definitely_ not for me.”

“What’s been your longest career then?” Erik asked.

Charles smirked. “Guess.”

Erik gave him a narrow-eyed look. The possibilities were almost literally endless. “Librarian.”

Charles shot him a quizzical look. “ _That's_ your first guess?”

“It’s the sweaters,” Erik said, grinning. “What about…baker?”

“No.”

“Candle maker?”

“No.”

“You ran an apothecary?”

“Honestly,” Charles said in exasperation, “how old do you think I am? We had electricity in my time, you know. We even had the _wheel_ , believe it or not. And fire!”

Erik couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. “Okay, okay, sorry. Hmm…” He surveyed the car, hoping for a clue. Most of the personal effects in the car told him more about Charles’s hobbies than his career choices: a Spock bobble head danced on the dashboard, an Arsenal travel mug sat in the cup holder, and a Mutant & Proud keychain dangled from his rearview mirror. There _was_ a briefcase in the backseat though, next to the wheelchair. Feeling out its metal clasps, Erik guessed, “Professor?”  

Charles nodded with a pleased grin. “More or less. I’ve dabbled in other things, but I’ve always come back to teaching. It’s my calling, you could say.”

“How long have you been at Columbia?”

“Oh, I only just came over last year. I taught at Oxford for sixteen years before I decided to hop across the pond. Raven — my sister — had been trying to get me to move over to America for ages. She loves it here.”

“Do you?”

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Charles shrugged. “I don’t mind it. London will always be home to me — god knows I lived there long enough — but New York has its own character. Besides…” His mouth twisted unhappily for a moment before curving back up into a slightly strained smile. “Well, let’s just say I had some romantic trouble in England. In the end, I was glad to get away.”

“Girlfriend?” Erik asked as casually as he could manage. He leaned forward to tilt the passenger seat vent more towards himself, pretending he wasn’t desperately interested in the answer.

Charles sighed. “Yes. We were on and off for a few years, and now we’re off. Permanently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s a good thing we broke up, honestly. I was due for a change of scenery anyway.” Charles fixed Erik with a bright smile. “In any case, I didn’t offer you a ride home so I could complain about my relationship woes. Like I said earlier, I have a theory about us.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “Us?”  

“You told me once that the, er…the _donor experience_ was better with me than with others,” Charles said. “And I’ve told you how your blood affects me.”

“Yeah.” Erik found it ridiculously gratifying that Charles seemed just as affected by their TypO visits as he was. It made his crush on Charles feel a little less pathetic.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Charles continued. “For the last couple of weeks, I’ve had my suspicions about what’s been going on, and the more research I’ve done, the more it seems plausible. How much do you know about bloodbonding?”

Frowning, Erik turned the word over and over in his head. Honestly, until he’d met Charles, he hadn’t paid much attention to any vampire lore beyond the obvious Hollywood stuff, which was often bullshit anyway. _Bloodbonding._ It didn’t ring a bell.

“Never heard of it,” he said finally.

“I’m not surprised. It’s fairly rare. It’s a term used to describe when a vampire and a donor are exceptionally compatible with one another. When that happens, the bloodsharing process becomes…well, _euphoric_ , to both parties.”

“Okay…” Erik said slowly. “So…what? We’re really compatible?”

“Really, _really_ compatible,” Charles said. “I’m not talking about the usual compatibility of matching blood types. Believe me, I’ve drunk from many, many people with type O blood, and none of them have ever tasted like you. I’ve never tasted _anyone_ as incredible as you.”  

His words sent heat flushing across Erik’s cheeks and all down his neck. Hoping Charles wouldn’t notice it, he turned his head away slightly and asked, “This has never happened to you before? This…bloodbonding?”

Charles shook his head. “Like I said, it’s fairly rare. I’ve never encountered it myself, though I’ve heard rumors of it. I always thought it was a myth. A…fairytale, of sorts.”

“Does that make me Prince Charming?” Erik teased before he could think better of it. Then he froze, worried that that had been too obvious a flirtation.

But Charles didn’t seem thrown; he only snorted. “What, does that mean I’m Cinderella? Oh, hardly. If anything, I’m Belle.” He gave Erik a quick once-over. “I’m not sure you’d make a very good Beast though.”

“Too short?”

“Not enough fur,” Charles replied without missing a beat.

Erik bit back a grin. He ran his fingers over his left wrist, feeling the raised lump under his coat sleeve where the bandage rested against the base of his palm. “So we’re…bloodbound? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Charles said, frowning. “There hasn’t been much research done on it, and I’ve had a hell of a time trying to find credible sources. I’ll keep digging into it, of course, but as far as I can tell, we don’t have anything to worry about. At least, I haven’t read about any adverse consequences of being bloodbound.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

Erik peered out the window and straightened as they turned the corner. “I’m right up here,” he said, just as Charles’s phone announced, “ _You have arrived at your destination on your left.”_

Charles pulled over along the curb and set the car in park. “Look, Erik…” he said slowly. “Just because I haven’t read about any adverse consequences doesn’t mean there _aren’t_ any. I’d understand if you wanted to end our…partnership as a precautionary measure.”

Erik stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not worried about my health, I’m worried about _yours_ ,” Charles said. “We don’t know what this bloodbond is and whether or not it’s dangerous. It could turn out to be perfectly harmless. Still, until we know for sure, perhaps it would be best if we stopped any bloodsharing activities. I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you to find someone else — ”

“ _No_ ,” Erik said vehemently. When Charles’s eyes widened, Erik hurried to modulate his tone. “I mean, I don’t think we have to stop anything. Nothing bad has happened yet, has it? And it’s been _weeks_ since you first started drinking from me.”

“Nothing bad has happened _yet_ ,” Charles said, still frowning.

“Look, if I ever start feeling sick or dizzy or shitty, I’ll let you know, okay? And vice versa. I like…” Erik bit his lip. “I like what we have going on. I don’t think we need to end it just because I taste like a million-dollar steak to you.”

That finally budged Charles’s frown — smiling reluctantly, he said, “All right, fine. But if I do some more research and find out that the bloodbond could be harmful to you…”

Erik held up his hands. “Then we’ll end it.” The idea made Erik’s stomach twist, but he forced a casual smile. “But it probably won’t come to that.”

“Probably not,” Charles agreed. After a moment of silence, he nodded up at Erik’s building and said, “It’s late. I should let you go.”

It was nearly nine, and Erik normally got home from TypO at eight at the latest. Azazel and Janos were probably wondering where the hell he was. “Yeah,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Of course.”  

He stepped out of Charles’s Lexus and made his way to the front door, shoving his hands into his pockets in a bid to keep them warm. Winter was really starting to set in, and Erik hated every second of it. He buried his nose in his scarf and resolved to dig the thick winter coat out of the back of his closet the next time he went out.

At the top of the stairs, he turned and waved. Charles, who’d rolled down the window, called out, “See you next Friday, Erik,” before waving back and pulling off the curb. He had just turned the corner when Janos strode up, a bag of groceries cradled in one arm.

“Who was that?” he asked, thick eyebrows raised.

“No one.”

Janos grinned, white teeth flashing. “That was him, wasn’t it? The one Kitty keeps talking about?”

“I’m going to _murder her_ ,” Erik snarled.

“Is he really two thousand years old?” Janos asked. “And have you really been pining after him for like, six weeks?”

Erik didn’t deign to answer him before stomping inside.

*

The problem with bloodbonds, Charles soon discovered, was that the scientific community knew shit-all about them. Most of what had been written on it was recorded in historical record, through anecdotes and diaries and missives from one obscure source to another. Almost none of it was verifiable, and Charles couldn’t find any empirical studies that had been done to answer any of the important questions: who and how and where and what and _why?_  Why did his venom affect Erik more strongly than other vampires’ venom did? And why did a single mouthful of Erik’s blood send Charles into _rapture?_

He couldn’t deny it — his lack of control when it came to Erik disturbed him. Over the decades of his life, he’d come to pride himself on his self-control. He had never killed anyone by drinking too much from them, and until very recently, the thought that he might still be in danger of going mindless with hunger had never crossed his mind. When he’d been a newborn, yes, he’d worried about restraining himself, but he had years and years of experience under his belt now. It was easy to limit his intake, to remain clear-headed throughout a feeding — or it _had_ been easy, until Erik.

Erik, because he was Erik, seemed wholly unconcerned about it. “You’re not going to hurt me,” he scoffed when Charles brought it up.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you haven’t yet — ”

“That’s hardly conclusive evidence — ”

“ — and you’ve had plenty of opportunities to,” Erik barreled on, “and you’ve never lost control once.”

Charles harrumphed. “I did once. The second time I drank from you.”

“You call that losing control?” Erik raised both eyebrows skeptically. “You stopped as soon as your alarm went off.”

“But it was difficult. It’s difficult every time, drinking from you.” Charles locked eyes with him, hoping to convey how serious he was, how serious _Erik_ should be. This was potentially his _life_ at stake.

But Erik just smirked and said, “I guess I’m just irresistible then,” and changed the subject, which, Charles thought with annoyance, was typical of any twenty-one-year-old who hadn’t ever questioned their own mortality.  

The following Saturday, Raven and Hank returned from their sojourn to California and asked Charles (or, more accurately, _commanded_ him) to come to dinner. Knowing Raven wouldn’t take no for an answer, Charles wrapped things up at work early, packed up his satchel, and took himself over to Drexel’s.

Hands-down the best vampire-friendly restaurant in Manhattan, Drexel’s had a full menu for mortals and vampires alike and, thankfully, had completely normal décor. There were several restaurants scattered around the city that claimed to be vampire-friendly but were really built for vampers, who dressed up in capes and fangs and flocked eagerly into places decorated with coffins, bat shapes, and all sorts of Dracula imagery. Charles found those places distasteful. Raven hated them with a passion.

“You should’ve seen L.A.,” Raven said, her lip curling. “Hank and I went to this place — what was it called again?”

“Stoker’s Bar,” Hank supplied readily.

Raven nodded. “Yeah, Stoker’s. It got pretty good reviews on Yelp and it _supposedly_ got a thumbs-up from some top vampire reviewers, but we got there and it was just vamp bullshit turned up to _eleven_.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Tell me about it. But then we went to this other place…”

“Haverford,” Hank filled in.

“Yeah, Haverford. God, Charles, their burgers are _to die_ for.” Raven’s eyes rolled back at the memory. “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten there. We’ll go the next time we’re in Cali. You’ll come with us next time, won’t you?”

“If I’m not busy, I will,” Charles promised.

He spent a few minutes perusing the menu, even though he always got the same thing every time he came: chicken fried steak, bacon-and-cheese mashed potatoes, and the blood chip appetizers that Drexel’s was famous for. There was a reason Raven called him an utter bore sometimes, he thought ruefully.

“How’s the semester going?” Hank asked.

Charles shrugged and set the menu aside. “Not bad. I’m still getting used to Columbia and how everything works here in the States, but I like the classes I’m teaching and the students are nice.”

“How do they like having a vampire for a professor?” Raven asked, baring her fangs in a grin.

“Honestly, I don’t think many of them care. I haven’t heard anything anyway.” Of course, Charles did his best not to listen in on any of his student’s thoughts, but he didn’t think any of them felt terribly strongly about his being a vampire. This wasn’t the 1800s anymore where vampires were living in bunkers and filing down their fangs in an effort to blend in. The younger generations were generally much more accepting than their parents and grandparents had been.

Raven took a sip of her red juice. “So how do they feel about you being a _mutant?_ That seems more controversial these days than being a vampire, I swear.”

“Some…concerns have been raised,” Charles admitted. “Especially with the nature of my mutation. But it hasn’t been a real problem. I have an exemplary record at Oxford, after all, and I’ve got dozens of colleagues willing to write defenses on my behalf. It’s just unfortunate, really, how the election’s stirred up all this mutantphobic sentiment. You know, the other day, Erik said — ”

He stopped. Eyes bright, Raven pounced. “Erik? Who’s Erik?”

“No one,” Charles said quickly, which was of course the wrong thing to say. Damn his mouth! “A colleague. I, er — we work together.”

“You are such a shitty liar!” Raven exclaimed gleefully. She scooted her chair closer to his, eyes wide and expectant. “Okay, you have my undivided attention. Tell me everything.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to _tell_. Really, we’re just — he’s a _friend._ ”

“Charles, do I need to remind you that you don’t _have_ friends? You have me and Hank and you have colleagues. And now you have Erik!” Raven grabbed his arm and squeezed excitedly. “Where did you meet? What does he do? Is he a vampire, too? A mutant?”

“He’s none of your business,” Charles retorted, shaking her off. “I didn’t pester you when you first started dating Hank!” When both of them laughed, he amended, “Okay, all right, I pried a _little_.”

“You did everything but run an official background check on him,” Raven said dryly, “and you only stopped there because I threatened never to speak to you again if you interfered with my relationship. So excuse me if I’m not feeling very charitable towards you right now.” She jabbed him in the arm, hard. “Spill.”

“First of all, _ow_.” Rubbing at his arm, Charles shot her a glare. “Second of all, there really isn’t much to spill. His name is Erik, I met him at TypO, and we’re friends. That’s it.”

“Sure Jan,” Raven said, smirking. When Charles stared blankly at her, she waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, it’s just something the kids say these days. _Anyway_ , so tell me about him. What does he do? How many times have you seen him? Are you _seeing_ him?”

“No, we’re not dating,” Charles harrumphed. “He’s a student at NYU.”

“Oh god, how old is he?”

“Twenty-one,” Charles said impatiently, “and it doesn’t matter because we’re _not_ _dating_. He’s just a friend. We meet once a week at TypO to have a session, and then we go our separate ways. That’s all there is to it.”

He had to fight the urge to look away. Raven always had a peculiar way of making him feel completely exposed and vulnerable, even when he had nothing to hide. She studied him now, narrow-eyed, and he met her gaze squarely, hoping she’d read nothing interesting in his face and let them all get on with dinner.

Then her eyes widened. “Wait a second.”

Charles sighed. “What now?”

“Does Erik have anything to do with the fact that you asked Hank to look into bloodbonding?”  

Of course Hank had told her. _Of course_ he had, even after Charles had _expressly_ told him not to. The boy was hopeless when it came to keeping things from Raven.

Struggling to control his expression, Charles said, “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But it was too late — Raven’s eyes widened further, and she grabbed his arm again. “Charles, are you and this kid bloodbound?”

“No — ”

“Oh my god, you _are_.”

“Hang on,” Hank interjected, his brow furrowed. “Almost all the information I’ve found on bloodbonds is all anecdotal. I’m not even sure if bloodbonds are even real.”

“Me neither,” Charles admitted. “But it’s the only thing I can think of that explains why Erik and I…it’s the only thing I can think of that explains this connection we have.”

Both of Raven’s eyebrows shot up. “A connection, hmm?” she purred. “What kind of connection?”

Ignoring her suggestive grin, Charles explained, “It’s like I told Hank — Erik’s blood tastes incredible to me, and my venom is…quite effective on him. I thought it might have been a fluke, the first time, but this…connection we’ve felt, it hasn’t faded.”

“So it’s _physical_ ,” Raven said, waggling her eyebrows.

Charles elbowed her in annoyance. “It’s not _like_ that. Look, I asked Hank to look into bloodbonds just in case he’s heard something I haven’t. There really isn’t that much information out there, even on the Internet.”

“I looked through a few academic journals and checked out Google Scholar,” Hank said. “As you said, there isn’t much there to find. I can take a more thorough look at the literature later. I have to catch up on some work I missed while we were in California, but I can pick up the research afterwards.”

Charles shook his head. “Only if you have time. I don’t want to derail any of your projects.”

The waiter appeared before any more could be said, and by the time the food arrived, they had moved onto talking about Kurt, who was very much enjoying his time studying abroad in Germany and had apparently taken an interest in the circus.

“He wants to join it,” Raven said, frowning. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“He has to finish school first,” Hank pointed out.

“ _I_ didn’t go to college and I turned out perfectly fine.”

“But he’s already three years in! It’d be a waste for him not to put in the last year.”

Charles got the feeling this was an argument they’d had several times already. He’d long since resolved not to get involved in any parenting discussions, partly because he knew it annoyed Raven when he poked his nose in her life and partly because he didn’t feel qualified in any way, shape, or form to give advice on raising a kid. His childhood had been characterized by a noticeable absence of adult role models.

He took a sip of his red juice (type O, as he’d asked for) and winced. Damn, that was disappointing. And worrying, too — if Erik’s blood was the only thing that could completely satisfy him from now on, that would be a problem. He wouldn’t always have Erik on hand as a donor; one day Erik would graduate and move away to law school, or he’d reach a point where he no longer needed the extra cash from bloodsharing, or he’d just decide he didn’t want to donate anymore. Any one of those things could happen, and where would that leave Charles?

He listened to Raven and Hank bicker for a while longer before their arguing started to take on a more… _charged_ energy. When Charles coughed loudly to remind them that he was still there, Hank blushed bright red, ducking his head and adjusting his glasses.

“I think we can continue this discussion at home,” Raven said, grinning. She threw back the rest of her red juice and tossed her napkin onto her plate, then leveled a stern look at Charles. “But don’t think we’re done talking about this bloodbonding thing, Charles. I want regular updates, you understand? And I want to meet this Erik someday.”

“Someday,” Charles agreed. He doubted Erik and Raven would ever have a reason to meet, but Raven probably wouldn’t let it go. For reasons beyond his understanding, she’d taken a renewed interest in his love life ever since he and Moira had split. It was apparently her current life mission to engineer a new relationship for him, or at least to get him laid. Hopefully she’d shift her attention away from Erik sooner rather than later — he and Erik were friends, nothing more.  

They split the check and then headed out. Raven told Charles not to overwork himself, Hank promised to call if he found anything, and Charles bade them both goodnight, smiling.

He had just gotten home when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Dropping his keys in the dish on the hallway table, he undid his scarf, tugged out of his coat, and hung both on the coatrack. After fishing his phone out of his coat pocket, he wheeled himself into the kitchen for a glass of water and then checked his messages.

It was Erik. _whats your favrite movie?_  

Bemused, Charles sent back: _I have quite a few. Why?_

The response was lightning quick. _do u like star wars? this is ver y importnat_

 _Well_ , Charles started, _I do enjoy the franchise and the new movie opened up a whole new world of possibilities. However, I have to say_ —

“Oh sod it,” he muttered. He had absolutely no patience for texting. Deleting the message, he hit _call_ instead and waited.

It was close to half a minute before Erik picked up. When he did, Charles could barely hear him over what sounded like deafening dance music in the background.

“HELLO,” Erik shouted.

“Hello,” Charles replied, frowning. “Where are you, Erik? It’s very loud.”

“I’M AT A — HANG ON.”

There was a bit of shuffling, some faint laughter and whoops, and then everything abruptly grew much quieter. “Sorry,” Erik said, sounding breathless, “I’m at a house party and I just stepped out.”

Charles shook his head with a soft, exasperated grin. Of course Erik was at a house party. It was a Saturday night, and he was a twenty-one-year-old college kid. “Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun. I just thought calling would be faster than texting, but I suppose I can answer your question later.”

“Nonono,” Erik exclaimed. “Answer the question. It’s really important. _Reaaally_ important.”

Charles wrinkled his nose. “Are you drunk?”

“ _Nooooooo_.”

“Liar.” Charles couldn’t bite back a grin.

“I’ve only had a little,” Erik insisted. “A tiny little. And answer the damn question, will you?”

“Yes, I like Star Wars. Happy?”

“Good,” Erik said cheerfully. “Because that was a deal breaker.”

“Deal breaker?”

“Yes,” Erik said, very seriously. There was a brief silence. Then he said, “Okay, I should go. I shouldn’t be talking with you. Drunk, I mean. I shouldn’t be talking with you drunk. I can talk with you any other time. You know, when I’m not drunk.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed, highly amused, “perhaps we should pick this up when you’re sober.”

Erik hung up without another word. Laughing, Charles pocketed his phone and tried not to think about how flattering it was that Erik had thought to drunk text _him_ , of all people.

*

The following morning, he woke up to a string of text messages from Erik.

_I’m really sorry about last night_

_I don’t know what got into me, really_

_I hope this doesn’t make anything weird? I’m really sorry_

Yawning, Charles hit _call_. The line rang for only a few seconds before it connected. “Hello?” Erik said hoarsely.

“You sound terrible,” Charles told him.

“Yeah, I’m…really hungover. Listen, about last night, I’m really sorry. Usually I’m pretty good about staying away from my phone when I drink, but last night my roommate dared me to do some shots of Fireball and I was…pretty much gone after that.”

“It’s fine. You weren’t a bother.”

“Well, I’m still sorry.” Erik hesitated for a long moment. Then he said in a rush, “Can I make it up to you? Treat you to breakfast or something?”

Charles blinked in surprise. “Er…” He didn’t really have plans for the morning beyond making tea and maybe checking his emails. Besides, the only things in the kitchen were some dry cereal and a few Red Boosters, none of which sounded very appealing at the moment. Why not? “All right. Sure.”

“Really?” Erik sounded surprised and pleased all at once. “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

Half an hour later, Charles arrived at a small, quaint diner called Morning Glory. Sandwiched between a Starbucks and a bookstore, it was easy to miss, which might have accounted for its paltry crowd. Charles spotted Erik easily in the sea of empty tables and wheeled over to him. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Adjusting his sunglasses, Erik smiled sheepishly. “Sorry again about last night.”

Charles waved away his apology. “No harm done.” He glanced over Erik, who was pale and slightly hunched over and sitting in the darkest corner of the diner with sunglasses on. “You look terrible.”

“You wouldn’t _believe_ the headache I have.”

“Actually…” Charles brushed across Erik’s mind and winced at the pain that pounded relentlessly against Erik’s temple. “Christ. How much did you have to drink?”

“Too much,” Erik said miserably.

His head felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer — in fact, someone was still in the process of smashing it with a hammer, repeatedly, with vigor. Charles was starting to get a small sympathy headache in response. “Do you mind if I…” He waggled his fingers beside his temple.

Erik shook his head with a grimace. Closing his eyes, Charles slipped into his mind.

Erik had a lovely mental landscape. Charles had entered hundreds of minds in his lifetime, and Erik had one of the lovelier ones. On the surface, it was loud and restless and brash, but underneath that, it was thoughtful, quieter. Charles saw most minds in colors, and Erik’s was red with shades of purple, passionate and fiery and warm. Perhaps it was the bloodbond that made Erik’s mind so pleasant to be in, Charles mused. He’d have to look into that later.

Charles had had decades to experiment with and fine tune his abilities. Dampening a headache was child’s play. As soon as he’d tucked the pain away, Erik’s thoughts bled blue with sharp relief and gratitude, then yellow with amazement. “That was…how did you do that?”

“Practice, mostly,” Charles replied, withdrawing from his mind. “I’ve dealt with many a hangover in my day.”

“Whoa.” Erik rubbed at his temple for a moment, then tugged off his sunglasses. “You should do that for a living. You’d make a _killing_.”

“I _was_ a physician for a while in the 1960s,” Charles told him. “One of my favorite careers actually. Just behind stage manager for the Beatles.”

“You — ” Erik choked. “The _Beatles?”_

Charles laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m afraid my life hasn’t been _that_ interesting.”

“I’m twenty-one and I’ve lived most of my life in Queens,” Erik said flatly.

Charles’s grin widened. “Point taken.”  

When the waitress came over, Erik ordered a large breakfast platter and a coffee, while Charles asked for tea and a stack of pancakes. He wasn’t fond of a lot of human food, but pancakes never failed to delight him. He was stirring sugar into his tea when Erik leaned forward and said, “So I’ve been reading up on this bloodbonding thing.”

“You read the articles I sent you?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t very helpful, so I tried googling bloodbonds and found some more information.”

Charles cocked his head in surprise. “I looked on Google and didn’t find much.”

“You also said you were bad at technology,” Erik pointed out wryly. “You didn’t even know how to send me those articles in an email — I had to show you how to attach them.”

“Fair point,” Charles admitted. “So what did you find?”

“There’s a whole forum about it,” Erik said, his voice picking up with excitement. “It took a bit of digging, but I found this thread on Reddit for people who’ve been bloodbound or who think they’ve been bloodbound and there’s a lot of good information on there. Plus there are other subreddits…that…” Erik frowned. “I lost you at ‘Reddit,’ didn’t I?”

Charles smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid so.”

“So Reddit is this…” Erik paused, then shook his head. “Never mind, Reddit’s not important. What’s important is that the bloodbond isn’t dangerous. At least, nothing I’ve read makes it sound dangerous. As far as I can tell, it’s a harmless phenomenon. It just happens.”

“That’s reassuring. But we can’t assume that our experience will be identical to that of others.” Digging a pen out of his pocket, Charles plucked a napkin from the holder and held both out to Erik. “Write down the link, will you? I’d like to take a look at this forum myself.”

Erik gave him an amused look. “I can just text it to you.”

Charles frowned quizzically. “You can do that?”

“Don’t professors have to use computers and phones pretty regularly?” Erik teased, tapping on his phone. A moment later, Charles’s phone chimed, signaling the arrival of a text. “Do you spend a lot of time reading _The 21_ _st_ _Century for Dummies?”_

“Shut up,” Charles muttered, poking at his pancakes. “This is why I have a TA, you know. So I can focus on more important things.”

“Sure,” Erik said, smirking.

Charles was struck, suddenly, by how handsome he was, smirking over at Charles like that, full of arrogance and good humor. Startled, he glanced quickly down into his tea and thought, with vehemence, _Fuck._

“You okay?” Erik asked.

“Fine.” He took a huge sip of tea and thought irritably, _This is all Raven’s fault_. She’d put the idea of there being something more between him and Erik in his head. If she hadn’t brought it up, he would never have considered it. Erik was a _friend_. Period.

Erik raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You got a weird look on your face for a second there.”

“I’m fine,” Charles insisted. He added some more sugar to his tea to give his hands something to do and ignored the look of concern in Erik’s eyes (Erik was _concerned_ about him, Jesus). “So…how is school?”

Erik snorted. “School is fine, _Mom_. I’m doing all my homework. I even got an A on my math test!”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Is it just me or is your generation _especially_ sarcastic?”

“I think it’s just you,” Erik said sweetly, and Charles couldn’t help but laugh.

They spent the rest of breakfast talking about Charles’s research on the X-gene, Erik’s volunteer work at the mutant youth center in his neighborhood, and their mutual disgust with the Republican party candidate, who was, at the moment, campaigning somewhere in Ohio.

“He’s disgusting,” Erik growled as he paid the check. “Every time I hear him on TV, I think, ‘This is it. This is my supervillain origin story.’”

Charles laughed. “No, don’t become a supervillain. You’d have to wear spandex. Everyone looks terrible in spandex.”

“Really?” Erik glanced down at himself. “I don’t know, I think I’d look all right.”

Charles glanced over at him and regretted it immediately. Erik had wonderfully long, lean legs. He would look magnificent in spandex, damn him.

“Besides,” Erik continued, “I’d have a _cape_. There’s nothing that screams _badass_ as much as a cape does.” When he saw Charles stifling a grin, he said, “I’m serious! Haven’t you _seen_ Batman?”  

“I’m more of a Superman fan, sorry.”

Erik wrinkled his nose. “And here I thought you had good taste.”

“My grandfather was the Earl of Glasgow,” Charles said haughtily, in the poshest voice he could imagine. “Don’t speak to me about _taste_.”

Erik stared at him for a moment, then burst out into laughter, his whole mind lighting up. Dazzled by it, Charles brushed up against his thoughts and jolted at the warmth that coursed across their connection. He wasn’t sure if the heat he felt was Erik’s or his own, but it startled him enough to make him glance quickly away, and hope Erik wouldn't notice his blush.

 

*

 

On the last Monday night in October, the youth center put on a Halloween dance. Erik spent most of the afternoon making sure all the sound equipment worked properly and that the DJ they’d hired was, in fact, going to show up. When all the kids and their parents started to filter in at six, he headed over to the drink table where Kitty was filling up paper cups with soda.

“Let me guess,” he said, eyeing her costume. “Doctor?”

Kitty grinned at him. “What gave it away? The stethoscope? The ‘Call me Dr. Pryde’ nametag?”

“I used my exceptional skills in observation,” Erik replied, snagging a cup of Coke off the table. “Need any help over here?”

“Nothing you can help with, Batman.” She glanced down at his utility belt. “You make this yourself?”

“Cobbled it together,” Erik said nonchalantly. He had, in fact, spent the last couple of weeks sewing his cape by hand and was enormously pleased by how it had come together. “Like the cape? I’ve heard several people call it _dashing_.”  

‘“Several people,’” Kitty repeated. Her smile turned sly. “Did one of these people happen to be eight hundred years old and go by the name Charles?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “First of all, he’s not even three hundred. And no, it was my mother.”

Kitty laughed. “I could’ve guessed. Have you told her about Charles yet? She’s been pressing me for more details, but I’ve been holding back, just for you.”

“Thank you,” Erik said dryly. “It’s your fault she knows about him in the first place. And there’s nothing to tell — we’re just friends.”

“Because you’re too chicken to ask him out.”

“Because I don’t know if he’s interested!”

A gaggle of kids dressed up as various Avengers swarmed the drinks table and made off with most of the cups. Erik handed Kitty new cups to fill and continued, “I don’t know what he thinks of me. He’s nice, but he’s nice to _everyone_. A couple of weeks ago, this girl ran into him at TypO and spilled juice all over him, and he didn’t even get mad. The girl was so embarrassed, but he told her everything was okay and he helped her clean up the mess and he even made her laugh with some of his stupid geeky jokes. God, I think she fell in love with him right there.”

Kitty smirked. “Are you sure _she_ fell in love with him?”

“I’m not in love with him,” Erik scoffed. “I’m just — I like him.” At her skeptical look, he added, “A lot. I like him a lot.”

“Admitting it is the first step,” Kitty said somberly.

“You’re one to talk. It took you, what — five months to work up the nerve to ask Piotr out?” For all of those five months, he’d had to listen to her pine for some beautiful, amazing, fantastic artist she’d run into at a free gallery showing and instantly fallen in love with. Erik had only been hung up on Charles for two months. He thought he was doing pretty well in comparison.

“Yeah, and I wish I’d done it _earlier_.” She began to arrange the cups into a diamond shape. “Take it from someone who knows, Erik — you’ll regret it if you wait too long. If he likes you back, perfect. If he doesn’t, then at least you won’t waste any more time and effort pining after him. It’s a win-win.”

“Unless I tell him I like him and that makes everything weird and we never speak again,” Erik pointed out. “I’d call that a loss.”

Two kids dressed up as pumpkins came and peered around in the cups. “Sunkist?” Kitty asked. “Or Pepsi? Or Mountain Dew? We’ve got it all.”

“What about lemonade?” asked the pumpkin with spiky purple hair.

Kitty frowned. “No, we don’t have lemonade.”

“Whatever,” muttered the other pumpkin. He had blue hair and electric blue contacts. It really didn’t work with his blazing orange pumpkin suit. “This party’s lame. Come on, Cece, let’s bounce.”

They watched as both pumpkins vanished into the dance floor. “Were we ever that snotty when we were thirteen?” Kitty wondered.

“ _I_ wasn’t,” Erik replied. “You, definitely.”

Kitty burst out laughing. “I seem to remember some snotty thirteen-year-old telling me that if I didn’t play with him, he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Now what _was_ his name again? Edwin? Erwin?”

“Shut up,” Erik muttered.

Snickering, Kitty picked up a Sunkist and sipped it. “Okay,” she said after a moment, “honestly, do you really think Charles is the kind of person who’d stop being friends with you just because you happened to have feelings for him?”

“Well...it’d be _weird_.”

“Yeah, but do you think you could get past it? Charles sounds like a pretty decent guy. If you both really value your friendship, I think it could still work.” Kitty shrugged. “I’m just saying, I think the benefits outweigh the risks here.”

“Well…” Erik ran his thumb along the side of his cup with a frown. “When you put it that way.”

“Just listen to me, Lehnsherr,” Kitty sniffed. “Doctor’s orders.”

Erik rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind the drink table. Tugging restlessly at his cape, he said, “Fine. Next time I see him, I’ll tell him.”

Kitty beamed. “Attaboy. Friday?”

“Next Friday. I have a midterm this week.”

“You didn’t see him last week either, right?”

“Yeah, I had to see my mom.” He’d skipped out on spending Shabbat with her way too many times, and last week she’d finally wrangled him into coming over. He’d been reluctant to cancel on Charles, but Charles had only told him not to worry about it.

Kitty whistled lowly. “So you’ve gone two whole weeks without him. How have you survived?”

“This may be a surprise to you,” Erik said dryly, “but I _do_ have my own life outside of him.”

He didn’t mention the fact that he and Charles had spent the last week occasionally texting, at first about when they could coordinate their next visit to TypO, and then just about whatever random thing came up. It was all just friendly conversation, but still, Erik jumped for his phone whenever it buzzed. He wasn’t used to having long conversations on the phone, but Charles would normally only give it three or four texts before he gave up and just called. Erik was secretly glad for it — honestly, he could listen to Charles ramble on and on in his stupidly sexy accent for eternity.

_“Gross.”_

He snapped back to attention. “What?”

Kitty elbowed him. “You were just thinking about him, weren’t you? I’ve never seen you smile like that before. Just admit it, Lehnsherr: you’re _grossly_ in love with him.”

Erik scowled. “Shut _up_.”

 

*

 

The following night, as he was lying on his bed skimming over some reading for class, his phone buzzed. Rolling over onto his stomach, he summoned it from his backpack on the ground to his hand and grinned when he saw it was Charles.

 _Good evening, Erik_.

Erik snorted and typed back, _why are all your texts so formal?_

A moment later, his phone began to ring. Tossing down his pen, Erik swiped to answer and rolled back over onto his back. “That was even quicker than usual.”

“Texting takes too much time,” Charles answered. “And to answer your question, I was born in a time when the appropriate salutation on communications was not, in fact — ” His voice dropped an octave and acquired a gruff American accent. “ — _Yo, what up, homie._ ”

Erik laughed so hard he nearly choked. “ _No one_ says that. God, you’re such a _dork_.”

“I watch TV,” Charles said defensively. “I read books.”

“Yeah, TV shows and books written by people as old as you are,” Erik retorted. “God, do you think people my age actually talk like that? And your American accent is terrible.”

“My students said it was passable,” Charles said, sounding wounded.

“Yeah, and they depend on you for their grades, remember?”

“Fair point,” Charles grumbled. “In any case, I was wondering if you might be free tomorrow evening. I know you said you had an exam Friday, so perhaps we could meet earlier in the week?”

Erik’s heart leaped. “Yeah, that sounds great. Let me just check…” He leaned over the side of his bed, pulled his backpack closer, and fished out his planner. Flipping it open, he scanned his schedule for Wednesday and...felt his heart sink. “Oh. I forgot I have something tomorrow. One of my professors is having the class over at her place, and I already said I’d go. Sorry.”

“No, no,” Charles said quickly. “It’s fine.”

There was an odd note to his voice that gave Erik pause. “Are you...okay?” he asked after a moment. “I know you said you’d just find another donor — ” Erik was _really_ trying not to think about that, or examine how jealous it made him. “ — but if you need me, I can find some time.”

“No, it’s fine,” Charles assured him.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. I’ll see you next week then?”

“Yeah, Friday.” Erik hesitated, then added, “Listen, if you need me before then, I can...come over or something. Just give me a call, okay?”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Charles replied, “but thank you. Have a good night, Erik.”

“Peace out, homie,” Erik said, letting his voice drop deep and gruff.

Charles’s laughter sent a thrill down his spine.

 

*

 

Charles spent Sunday morning filling out a horrific amount of paperwork, which was not fun. He spent all of Monday dealing with a student who had been caught plagiarizing, which was even _less_ fun, and by the time Tuesday rolled around, he had a headache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in between his eyes and his whole body felt uncomfortably hot. He suffered through his three morning classes with varying degrees of success and did his best not to let on that he desperately wanted to lie down for a while.

After his last lecture, he packed up his satchel quickly, eager to get back to his office, strip off his suit jacket, and collapse on the couch for a while during his lunch break. He was just getting his notes together when one of his students — Jean Grey, who was brilliant and talented and quite possibly the brightest in the class (and also a telepath, but Charles tried not to let this bias him in her favor) — came up to the lectern.

Forcing a smile, he said, “What can I do for you, Jean?”

“Actually, Professor…” Jean glanced at his face. “I just wanted to say that your mind feels...well, terrible today. I didn’t know vampires could get sick.”

“Sick?” Charles laughed. “We can’t. Not really.”

“Really? Because both of my roommates have the flu right now, and their minds feel kind of like yours.”

Charles resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “I’m fine, Jean, but thank you for your concern. Really.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously. “See you on Thursday, Professor.”

“Take care, Jean.”

He watched her go, then pressed the back of his palm against his forehead. Did he have a fever? Since he’d been turned, he’d gotten sick a handful of times, but never with anything more serious than a cold. There was no way he had the flu.

And yet, that was a less upsetting explanation than what he suspected was really going on. He had tried, with varying degrees of success, not to think about it over the last few days, but now the facts seemed inescapable.

He hadn’t had any of Erik’s blood in over two weeks. He’d returned to TypO three times since then, unusually thirsty, and he’d left dissatisfied each time. He’d upped his intake of Red Boosters, too, but he wasn’t just _hungry_. He was hungry for something very specific, and the longer he went without it, the worse and worse he felt.

Wheeling back to his office, he shut the door and set his satchel on his desk. He set his phone down next to it and stared at it for a long minute, frowning. Erik _had_ said he’d make time to come to TypO if Charles really needed it. And Charles was really starting to feel like he needed it.

But at the same time, the thought of being so far gone that he had to call Erik and set up an appointment immediately instead of waiting for Friday was...frightening. Nothing that he’d read about bloodbonds had indicated that they might be addictive, or that cessation of such a bond might prove dangerous, or even deadly, for the vampire. If that was what was happening to him, surely he would’ve read something about it in the stories he’d dug up, or in Erik’s Reddit forums. How could such an important detail have been omitted?

He wondered, with a sudden pang of concern, if Erik was suffering any symptoms of...withdrawal, too. Surely he would have mentioned it if he had?

His frown deepening, Charles picked up his phone, opened up the messaging app, and clicked on Erik’s name. _Good afternoon, Erik._ He chewed on his lip for a moment, digging his fangs in just a bit as he tried to think of a good way to ask Erik how he was feeling without raising his suspicion. Finally he settled on, _There’s a flu going around my classes. I hope you’re well,_ and hit send before he could second guess himself.

Reading it over again, he winced. God, that was about as subtle as a ton of bricks. Embarrassed, he set his phone down and shucked off his jacket. Underneath it, he was sweating, his collar damp with perspiration. Wheeling himself over to the mini-fridge under his desk, he took out a half-full bottle of Red Booster that he’d started that morning, cracked open the cap, and chugged the rest of it. That seemed to cool him down a bit, and he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin with a relieved sigh.

His phone chimed. _feeling fine,_ Erik replied. _thanks for asking. you ok?_

Tugging at his collar, Charles typed out one-handed: _Vampires don’t get sick, my friend._

Erik’s answer came back within seconds: _lucky you. see you friday?_

_Yes._

Charles tossed his phone back onto his desk and wheeled himself over to his couch. Transferring over onto it, he collapsed down onto his back sleepily. Erik seemed fine, which was a relief. As for Charles, he’d push through this...funk and see Erik on Friday. It was only three days away, barely a blink of an eye.

With a groan, he buried his face into the couch pillow. It was only lunch and he still had a few more things to do in the afternoon, but...a nap couldn’t hurt. He was too exhausted at the moment to function properly anyway.

He meant to get up and get his phone to set an alarm, but in between that thought and the next, he fell asleep.

 

*

 

“Look,” Alex insisted, smugly collecting Angel’s money, “the point of Monopoly is not to win. The point is to fuck over as many people as possible before you _lose_.”

“And you wonder why you have no friends,” Angel said dryly. “Well, I’m bankrupt. Anyone else want a refill?”

“Mix me something good,” Kitty said, handing her her cup.

Angel climbed to her feet. “One mimosa, coming right up. Anyone else?”

“Is anyone else vaguely concerned that we’re all drinking on a Tuesday night?” Alex asked.

Kitty grinned. “Concerned? Kind of. Is it going to stop me? Hell no. I’m a senior, Summers, I don’t have inhibitions anymore. I’m fucking _free.”_

“Amen to that,” Angel said, toasting Kitty with her empty cup. “Erik?”

Erik shook his head, juggling the die in his hand. He’d already had a beer and wanted to stay relatively sober since he had a quiz tomorrow to study for. He’d only come over for a brief study break and promptly gotten roped into a game of Monopoly, which of course meant that now he couldn’t leave until he either won or got so frustrated he stomped out. By the way the game was going, the former seemed more likely.

He tossed the die and leaned over to read the numbers. “Snake eyes! That takes me to…” He moved his iron two spaces and grinned dangerously. “Boardwalk. I’m buying it.”

Kitty kicked Alex. “You fucker. Now he owns _all_ of that side.”

“How is this _my_ fault?” Alex demanded.

“If you hadn’t _stolen from me_ — ”

“That’s how the game fucking works!”

Erik’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Digging it out, he glanced down at the screen and jolted. “I have to take this.”

Kitty didn’t say anything, but both she and Alex smirked in his direction. Rolling his eyes, Erik got up and padded into the hall where it was quieter. “Hey, Charles. What’s up?”

“Hello, Erik. So sorry to...interrupt your evening but…”

His voice was thready and trembling. Erik’s heart jumped into his throat. “Charles? What’s wrong?”

“I’m, um...would you mind coming over to my place? Now?”

He sounded _terrible._ Fear washed hotly through Erik, all the way out to his fingertips. “Of course. I’ll just — ” He held out his hand and ignored Kitty’s yelp when his keys zoomed past her face into his palm. “I’ll be there soon. Twenty minutes. Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just…” Charles released a shaky breath. “Come. Please.”

“Okay, yeah. Be there soon.” Hanging up, he whirled around, heart slamming against his chest. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“Why?” Alex rose. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know.” Erik ran an agitated hand through his hair. “That was Charles. He sounded...weird. I’m going to go over to his place and see if everything’s okay.”

Angel frowned. “He sounded weird? Weird how?”

“I don’t _know_.”

He jerked on his coat and shoved on his boots. When he put his hand on the door though, Angel stopped him. “Do you want one of us to come with you?”

Erik hesitated. On the one hand, if something was really wrong, it might help to have someone else on hand to help. On the other, he wasn’t sure about inviting someone else to Charles’s home. If Charles was _really_ in trouble, he would’ve called a hospital or something, right? He wouldn’t have called Erik.

“No,” he said at last. “I’ll text you guys later.”

Without waiting for a reply, he hurried out. The frigid evening struck him full in the face, making him grit his teeth as he booked it to the nearest train station. A handful of other people were braving the cold as well, but the street was largely quiet. Shoulders hunched, Erik shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and jumped down the stairs of the station three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest.

Charles was fine. Vampires couldn’t die of anything but a stake to the heart, so it wasn’t as if this was a matter of life and death. But for the life of him, Erik couldn’t think of a single reason why Charles had sounded so distressed, and the more he replayed their conversation over and over in his head, the more frightening it became. He had never heard Charles sound anything but perfectly composed. What could possibly have upset him so much?

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep from seizing the train with his powers and _forcing_ it down the tracks. Erik didn’t sit, couldn’t sit — half a dozen scenarios circled through his head, all of them horrible. What if Charles _was_ dying? What if he had some sort of ultra-rare vampiric disease that was killing him? What the fuck could Erik do, call a fucking ambulance?

The station was three blocks from Charles’s place. By the time Erik got to the door of his building, he was sweating and furious. Why hadn’t Charles just told him straight out what was wrong? If it turned out that all of his worry was for nothing, Erik was going to be _pissed_.

The doorman took one look at him and narrowed his eyes. “Sir — ”

“Charles,” Erik interrupted. “Charles Xavier. Remember, I came to see him that one time — ”

“Ahh, that’s right.” The doorman nodded in recognition, then frowned. “You look a little rough, son.”

“Well,” Erik gritted out, “I feel a little rough. Can I go in?”

As soon as the door was open, he burst into the lobby and bolted for the elevators. Thankfully there was no one else there; Erik _really_ wasn’t in the mood to jostle with anyone for elevator space. He slammed the doors shut with his powers a little harder than necessary and jabbed the button for Charles’s floor.

As soon as the doors opened on the sixth floor, Erik leaped out. The whole hallway passed in a blur as he made a beeline for Apartment 608. He threw out his powers ahead of him, feeling out the situation. It took a moment for him to separate and categorize all the metal, and then he focused in on _Charles’s_ metal: his wheelchair (cold with disuse), his watch (cold also). That was horribly unreassuring.

Erik rapped his knuckles sharply on the door. “Charles?”

For a long, terrifying moment, there was no reply. Then Charles said, very tightly, _Please...let yourself in._

Even through that brief contact, Erik could feel that Charles was in pain. Scared now, he unlocked Charles’s door with a jerk of his fingers and stepped in.

“Charles?”

 _In the living room_.

Swallowing, Erik took a moment to steel himself, then made his way down the hall. When he reached the doorway, he froze.

Charles was lying on the couch, deathly pale and sweating profusely. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and under his open collar, his chest glimmered with sweat. He hadn’t even changed out of his slacks and button-up — it looked like he’d come home from work and immediately collapsed on the couch. His eyes, half-lidded and hazy, lifted to meet Erik’s. “Erik,” he croaked.

Erik stood paralyzed for another half-second before he stumbled over to Charles’s side, falling to his knees next to him. “Oh god, Charles? What’s wrong?”

Charles cracked a small smile, which looked more pained than anything. “It really isn’t as serious as it...as it looks. I believe I’m just…” He swallowed. “...having withdrawals.”

“With — _what?”_

“It’s why I asked you here.” Charles blinked slowly, lethargically. “I think I’m...having withdrawals from...well, from _you_.”

“Me?” Erik echoed, shocked. Then everything came together at once, and his eyes widened. “Oh shit. You’re getting withdrawals from my _blood?”_

Charles flashed him that pained smile again. “That would...seem to be the case.”

“Why didn’t you call _earlier?_ ” Erik demanded, yanking off his coat. Rolling up his sleeve impatiently, he pushed his wrist at Charles.

“N...no,” Charles said, jerking his face away. “I just...We should go to TypO. I just wanted you to help me…”

“You’re not going _anywhere,”_ Erik said incredulously. “Here, sit up.” He took Charles’s arm to help him up and hissed when his fingers met shockingly cold skin. “God, you’re _freezing_. Come on, get up.”

With an effort, he heaved Charles up into a seated position. Charles sagged in his grip, as boneless as a ragdoll. Alarmed, Erik dragged his sleeve up further and offered his wrist again. “Here, come on.”

“No,” Charles panted. His pupils were blown wide, the brilliant blue of his irises nearly vanished. “Erik, don’t.” He put a hand on Erik’s wrist and tried feebly to push him away. “I don’t think...I don’t think I can control myself.”

“I don’t care,” Erik said, and pressed his arm against Charles’s lips.

For a second, Charles simply breathed against his skin, his fangs resting lightly against Erik’s pulse point. Then he let out a desperate noise and bit down. Erik cried out in surprise and pain — Charles had never been this rough before, and it had never hurt this much before — but held his arm still, shaking with the effort. And then the venom hit and his knees buckled. Sitting down hard on the rug, he managed to lean back against the couch to keep from toppling over awkwardly. The most he could do was fight to keep his eyes from slipping shut as Charles drank from him with little finesse. Erik watched as blood trickled down his arm to the crease in his elbow.

Funny, he thought dazedly. He’d never actually _seen_ his own blood when Charles — or any vampire, really — fed from him. It occurred to him that Charles was usually much more careful than this, making sure not a drop was wasted.

For the first time, a pang of fear shot through him, not for Charles but _because_ of him. What if Charles had been right? What if he really couldn’t control himself?

“Charles,” he tried to say, but it came out more as a gurgle than anything coherent. He struggled to pull his arm away, but it was too late: a moment later, he blacked out.

 

*

 

When he woke up, Charles was hovered over him, panic-stricken and flushed. “Oh Christ,” he said. His voice sounded light years away. “Erik, can you hear me? Open your eyes, Erik, please.”

There was a foul taste in his mouth. Licking his lips, Erik tried to obey. His eyelashes fluttered, and, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to crack his eyes open enough to take in Charles’s face.

Cheeks rosy red, eyes wide and clear again, Charles looked worlds better than he had when Erik had first arrived. At least he no longer looked half a second away from death’s door. Relief flooded through Erik, sharp and immediate. With an effort, he whispered, “You’re okay.”

For a moment, Charles looked strangely like he wanted to cry. “You idiot. You fucking _idiot_.”

“Hey,” Erik said weakly. “I think I just saved your life.”

“I was hardly going to _die_ ,” Charles retorted, his voice gaining an edge of anger. “God, what did you think you were _doing?”_

Charles was sitting beside him, looming over him. It felt like an unequal way to have a conversation, so Erik tried to sit up, but all he could manage was a graceless twitching of his legs. “Stay still,” Charles said sharply.

“You…” Erik started. His tongue was clumsy and thick in his mouth, and after struggling with it for a moment, he switched to thinking hard at Charles. _You were the one who called_ me _._

“I called you so you could help me get to TypO,” Charles snapped. “I was afraid this would happen, and I wanted staff on hand just in case. And then you came in here and gave me your arm like a fucking _idiot_ , and I nearly killed you!”

Erik blinked in disbelief. _You probably didn’t_ —

“If I’d gone on for just a minute longer, we wouldn’t be speaking ever again,” Charles said furiously.

That shut Erik up. He couldn’t feel fear, not really, not with Charles’s venom still circulating in his system, but he _could_ feel a certain discomfort. Charles had nearly killed him? The thought seemed so far away that it couldn’t be real, and yet the way Charles was looking at him, with such anger and terror…

 _You were worried about me_ , Erik realized suddenly.

“No, I was worried about almost becoming a murderer,” Charles snapped. “Of _course_ I was worried about you!”

Erik’s lips twitched. _I’m fine._

Charles glared at him. “Do not smile at me.”

Maybe it was the shock of having nearly died — maybe it was just how _angry_ Charles was. Erik couldn’t explain why he began to laugh, softly and tremulously, then more uncontrollably once the venom’s effect began to lift. He curled on his side and laughed until his sides hurt, and when Charles tugged him up into his lap, his eyes wide and alarmed like a startled barn owl, Erik only laughed harder until he cried.

“This is a stress response,” Charles said irritably, gripping Erik by the shoulders to keep him still. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delirious.”

“I’m _delicious_ ,” Erik corrected, and Charles’s annoyed look set him off again.

It took nearly ten minutes for the hysterical laughter to stop bubbling up and out of his chest, and once Charles realized Erik wasn’t in any immediate danger, he released Erik with a growl and pulled himself up into his chair. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a bag of assorted nuts. Setting both on the coffee table, he tugged Erik upright and said icily, “Drink. Eat.”

There was enough ire in his voice to make Erik obey without further comment. Slowly, he drank the glass of water (“The _whole thing,”_ Charles ordered when Erik paused halfway) and began to pick over the nuts. They were all salty beyond belief, and he grimaced as he popped them into his mouth. Charles continued to watch him in stern silence until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“If you really drank you so much you almost killed me — ”

Charles’s eyes narrowed. “I did.”

“ — then I feel like I should be...I don’t know, a lot _sicker_ right now.” Erik glanced down at the bandage wrapped tightly around his right wrist. “If I lost that much blood, wouldn’t I have needed a transfusion or something?”

“You did.” Folding his hands in his lap, Charles averted his gaze.

Erik stilled. “What does that mean?”

“It  means…” Charles exhaled. Guilt flickered across his face briefly before he forced it away. “You’ve heard that vampire blood can have a therapeutic effect on people?”

“Yeah. Mostly just on people with the same blood type.”

“Yes, and for most of those people, it has some positive effect but not a huge one. But with you…” Charles shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s our bloodbond or if it’s just a medical phenomenon, but...I gave you my blood, and I think it saved your life. You were beyond saving without medical intervention and yet…”

The foul taste in his mouth when he’d woken up. That had been Charles’s _blood?_ Erik stared at him wonderingly as his words sank in. “You saved my life.”

“After nearly _taking it_ ,” Charles said, his voice dark with self-loathing.

“That was an accident,” Erik argued.

“One that never should have occurred!” Charles gripped the wheels of his chair tightly. “I should never have put you in such a dangerous position. This was my fault.”

“What were you going to do?” Erik demanded. “Lie on the couch until you _died?_ You _had_ to call me! And more importantly, it was my _choice_ to come here.”

“You didn’t know what would happen.”

“And neither did _you_.” Erik glowered at him. “Or did you know that you’d have withdrawals from my blood? If you did, then I think I have the right to yell at _you.”_

Charles’s anger gave way to bafflement. “What on earth for?”

“For scaring the _shit_ out of me!”

Charles shot him a quizzical look, then shook his head. “For the record, I didn’t know this would happen, all right? Nothing I’ve read on bloodbonds suggested that this might happen. Then again, everything I’ve read has said that bloodbonds can vary widely from partners to partners, so...perhaps this is a quirk of ours.”

“Hell of a quirk.”

“Indeed.”

Erik let his head loll back against the couch. His whole body felt like one huge bruise, throbbing from head to toe. His anger couldn’t rally in the face of the bone-deep exhaustion that settled over him, and he closed his eyes, utterly drained.

He’d nearly _died_ tonight. And Charles had been sicker than Erik had thought it possible for a vampire to be. This bloodbond of theirs, whatever it was — it was frightening. And it was dangerous.

“Yes,” Charles said. “It is. _I_ am.”

Erik could hear the guilt in his voice, could practically _feel_ it in the air. He opened his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Charles’s mouth twisted. “You should be.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“I guess I am,” Erik said simply.

Charles stared at him for a long moment, his brows furrowed in confusion. His bright blue eyes searched Erik’s, looking for something and obviously not finding any answers that he expected. Quietly, he said, “I don’t understand you, Erik.”

“You’re a thousand years old,” Erik replied, smiling tiredly. “I thought you’d have the secrets of the universe tucked under your belt.”

“Hardly a thousand,” Charles murmured. “And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of being alive, it’s that people will never cease to surprise you.”

Erik sat there on the floor for a while longer until the dizziness subsided completely and his limbs felt fully under his control again. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself off the coffee table and stood up.

“Careful,” Charles said, hovering nearby.

“I’m fine,” Erik told him. As soon as he said that, his knees wobbled, and he stumbled back into the couch, sitting down hard.

“Stay,” Charles said, frowning. “You can sleep on the couch tonight. I don’t want you trying to go anywhere when you’re still feeling unwell.”

Now that he was on the couch, Erik never wanted to move again. Evidently he’d used up all his energy standing up because now he could barely muster up the effort to tilt his head to look over at Charles. “Fine.”

“Good.” Charles wheeled over to the closet and fetched a throw blanket that he brought back and placed on Erik’s lap. “Rest then. We can discuss compensation in the morning.”

Erik blinked. “Compensation?”

“Yes.” Charles’s hands paused on his wheels. “I know it wasn’t a session at TypO, but you deserve to be compensated, especially after what you went through tonight. Although…” He bit his lip, fangs digging into skin. “I’m not trying to buy you off, you understand — you’re well within your rights to press charges against me. Assault, battery, unlawful bloodsharing — ”

“That was consensual,” Erik said flatly.

“Yes, but you weren’t expecting for me to — to lose control like that. And the law would be on your side — very rarely does it side with the vampire, in cases like these.” Charles spoke very evenly, as if he was reading facts from a textbook.

“I’m not going to _press charges_ ,” Erik said, exasperated. “And I’m not going to accept your money either.”

Charles frowned. “Erik, you deserve to be compensated. You haven’t just given me your blood for free, I’ve paid for it. That’s the nature of our arrangement.”

Erik gritted his teeth. “I didn’t come over here because I was expecting to get _paid_.”

“No, no, of course not. You came as a friend, but even between friends — ”

“I didn’t come here as a friend either!” Erik burst out.

Charles stared at him, obviously startled by his vehemence. It was clear from his bewilderment that he had no idea what Erik was getting at, which made Erik’s heart sink. “What do you mean?”

 _Next time I see him, I’ll tell him,_ Erik had said to Kitty. This _really_ wasn’t how he’d imagined this would go.

Erik took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up. “I didn’t come here as a friend,” he explained, “because I don’t just want to be your friend.”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Erik…”

“I have feelings for you,” Erik continued, staring stubbornly down at his hands. “I like you. A lot. And I know that vampires and mortals don’t have great track records when it comes to relationships, and I know it might be...weird for you, because I’m... _dozens_ of years younger than you are, but...you’re smart and you’re funny and interesting and gorgeous, and I think — I think I’m a little in love with you.”

There was a moment of utter, agonizing silence. Squeezing his hands tightly together, Erik finally dared to look up at Charles. His breath lodged in his throat, and his heart felt like it had stopped beating in his chest, like everything in him had gone absolutely still, awaiting Charles’s reaction.

Charles was looking back at him with an expression filled with such soft, tender regard that a lump rose in Erik’s throat.

“Oh, Erik,” he said. “I think I might be a little in love with you, too.”

The word _love_ shot through Erik like a thunderbolt, searing from the top of his head to the bottom of his spine. “You…” Erik gaped at him, dazed. “What?”

Charles wheeled himself closer and locked his wheels. In one smooth movement, he transferred over onto the couch next to Erik, close enough that their knees touched. “I think you heard me.”

Erik continued to stare at him, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. “Just to be sure — I _am_ awake, right? This isn’t a dream? Because I’ve had a dream like this before — ”

“Erik,” Charles interrupted, curling a hand around the back of Erik’s neck. “Just kiss me.”

“Hmm,” Erik muttered, as if this were the first time he’d ever thought about kissing Charles instead of the millionth. “That sounds like a good idea.”

 

*

 

Charles woke up first, the following morning. For the first time in over a week, he’d slept soundly, without having to battle a headache and chills. When his alarm went off at 7:30, he groaned, buried his face in his pillow, and willed the sun to go away.

Then he remembered Erik and snapped wide awake.

A quick telepathic sweep of the apartment found Erik on the couch in the living room, still deeply asleep. As far as Charles could tell, Erik hadn’t stirred all night. Probably exhausted from last night’s ordeal. Charles couldn’t blame him.

The last thing he wanted to do was get up, but it was only Wednesday and he still had classes. With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed and blearily wheeled into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later when he came out into the living room, Erik was still passed out. He was lying on his stomach, his face mashed into the pillow Charles had given him last night, snoring lightly. Most of the blanket had slipped off him during the night to pool on the floor beside the couch, and his shirt had ridden up above the waistband of his jeans, revealing the pale, smooth skin of his back. Charles wanted badly to kiss every inch of it.

God, he was lovely. For a long moment, Charles just looked at him, recalling how dizzyingly good it had been, kissing Erik last night. Erik had been clumsy with eagerness, his fingers tangling hesitantly in Charles’s hair, his mouth hot and fierce and utterly lacking in finesse. He was hardly the best kisser Charles had ever met, and Charles couldn’t have cared less. Erik had been perfect.

Last night...god, it had been _electric._ In his lifetime, Charles had fallen in love several times over, but this one was different. He wasn’t sure how, but he could feel it, deep in his gut. And after having spent the last year listlessly trying to get over Moira, it was refreshing to know that he’d finally _moved on_.

Humming softly under his breath, he drank half a Red Booster for breakfast, spent a few minutes lamenting at the lack of meal options in his fridge for Erik, and considered dropping by the store to pick something up later. At 8:15, he returned to the living room and left a note for Erik on the coffee table. As he was tugging the blanket back up over Erik’s shoulders, Erik stirred.

“Good morning,” Charles said softly. “I have to go to work, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Just remember to lock the door on your way out.”

Erik made an unintelligible noise, then raised one hand to rub at his eyes. “What time is it?”

“8:20. Do you have class today?”

“Not until eleven.”

“When do you finish?”

“Umm…” It took Erik’s brain a few seconds to start working; Charles watched as Erik’s thoughts went from somnolent gray to the bright, motile colors of consciousness. “4:30.”

“Would you like to meet me for dinner? Say, six?”

“Mmm,” Erik said, yawning. “Yes. Where?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

After a moment, Charles gave into the urge to brush Erik’s hair back from his forehead. When Erik leaned in his touch, like a cat seeking out a caress, hot affection welled up in Charles’s chest.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, running his thumb along Erik’s cheekbone.

Erik’s eyes were already slipping closed again. “Mmm, see you.”

It was all oddly domestic: waking up, getting ready for work, bidding Erik goodbye, have a nice day, and promising to see him later for dinner. Charles tried not to think about how quickly he could get used to this and left before he could say or do anything embarrassing.

The morning crawled agonizingly past. Every time Charles glanced at the clock and realized only two minutes had passed since he’d last checked, he wanted to bang his head against his desk. His mind kept drifting back to Erik, replaying last night’s events over and over again and doubting, for the first time, that he had done the right thing.

There was no question that the bond between them was powerful. Charles didn’t fully understand it, but it obviously compelled them to remain close, if only because Charles needed Erik’s blood. But what if it was more than that? What if it had compelled an emotional bond as well? What if his feelings for Erik, and Erik’s for him, were only a side effect of their physical dependence on each other?

As much as Charles wanted to reject the idea, wanted to claim that he knew his own mind and his own heart, he couldn’t discount the notion entirely. After all, they still knew so little about the bloodbond. It had nearly incapacitated Charles to be away from Erik for two weeks. The power the bond held over them was frightening, and they had to question it.

By the time dinner finally arrived, most of the glowing joy from this morning had disappeared into a flurry of anxious questions. Charles arrived at the restaurant first and spent a few minutes restlessly thumbing through the menu without really reading anything. He ordered a glass of type O red juice just to have something to sip on and ended up drinking the whole thing in seven minutes, licking his fangs restively as he waited.

Six o’clock came and passed. At 6:10, Charles started to get worried. Whenever they met up at TypO, Erik was always punctual, usually at least five minutes earlier than Charles. He was just starting to reach for his phone when the door opened and Erik burst in, his hair windswept and his eyes wide as they scanned the restaurant. When he spotted Charles, he offered a rueful smile and came over, shoving his gloves into his coat pockets as he did.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, dropping into the chair next to Charles. “I was at a meeting and it ran over.”

“It’s fine.”

Erik took in Charles’s expression and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Charles assured him. “Not really. I just think we ought to talk about...well, _us_.”

Erik’s hands, which had been reaching for a menu, stilled. “Okay,” he said warily. “What about us?”

Charles took a moment to collect his thoughts. If he came at this the wrong way, it would likely upset Erik, and the last thing Charles wanted to do was hurt him. But this was something they couldn’t ignore, and as the older, more experienced one of the two of them, Charles felt obligated to bring it up.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to make it clear that I want to be with you. You’re smart and gorgeous and funny. You don’t seem to mind that I’m a vampire, or that I can read your mind, or that I’m over two hundred years older than you.”

“Yeah, I...try not to think about that last one,” Erik muttered.

Charles laughed and reached across the table to take Erik’s hand. Erik gave him a startled, pleased grin and turned his hand palm-down. Running his thumb over Erik’s knuckles, Charles said slowly, “I want to be with you, but I think we have to take the bloodbond into consideration.”

Erik frowned. “How?”

“I think,” Charles said reluctantly, “we have to consider the possibility that the bloodbond is affecting how we feel about each other. We have to consider the possibility that our physical compatibility is somehow influencing our emotions.”

Erik’s brows furrowed. “Wait...are you saying you think the bloodbond _made_ me fall in love with you?”

“No.” Charles hesitated. “Well, perhaps not directly. But it isn’t a stretch to believe that the bloodbond predisposed you to having feelings for me, and vice versa.”

“So...what are you saying?” Erik said stiffly, pulling away from Charles’s touch. The normally bright colors of his mind darkened with uneasiness, with anger. “You think we don’t actually like each other? We’re just, what, _under the influence_ or something?”

“Or something,” Charles agreed calmly.

“I know my own mind,” Erik growled. “I know how I feel towards you, and I know it’s not because your venom makes me feel _good_ or some shit like that.”

Charles forced himself not to allow his own temper to flare in response to Erik’s. “And I want to believe you. Look, Erik, in all likelihood, what we feel for each other is genuine. Honestly, there’s nothing I want more than to have that be true. But we still _have_ to admit that we barely know anything about our bloodbond and that the bloodbond complicates matters.”

“So.” Erik gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you...breaking up with me?”

He should. He should break up with Erik (if they were ever even _together_ , if a few kisses meant that they’d begun a relationship), at least until they better understood the facets of their bloodbond. Until then, it would be wise to keep their distance to prevent the bloodbond from deepening; the stronger it got, the more inescapable its hold would be over them, Charles knew it.

And yet...he couldn’t. The thought of distancing himself from Erik, of methodically cutting Erik out of his life, was absurd. They had only known each other for a handful of weeks, but Erik had already become a fixed, irreplaceable part of Charles’s routine. Charles thought back to the days before Erik, when he had thrown himself into his work to avoid thinking of Moira, when he had bounced from home to campus to TypO with a listlessness that had become exhausting. He couldn’t go back to that. Not when he had just found something — _someone_ — who was fresh and interesting and made him feel a little bit more alive.

“No,” he said finally. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

Erik grinned, relief washing over him. Reaching out to clasp Charles’s hand again, he said, “Good. Because I was going to have some stern words for you if you were.”

Charles couldn’t help but smile. “No doubt. But, Erik, I just...I want you to know what you’re getting into here. First of all, I’m a vampire.”

“Yes,” Erik said dryly, “I _had_ noticed.”

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The point is, some people don’t look too favorably on vampire-mortal relationships. You know that, don’t you?”

“Charles.” Erik squeezed his hand, exasperation coursing through their physical connection. “What part of my personality makes you think I give a fuck about other people’s opinions?”

“I just want to be clear,” Charles huffed. “Believe it or not, I’ve dated a couple of people who were wholly ignorant of the fact before we started seeing each other.”

Dark green jealousy flashed across Erik’s mind for a second before he shoved it away. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I don’t care that you’re a vampire. I don’t care that you’re a telepath. Actually, I _love_ that you’re a vampire and a telepath because that’s what makes you _you_. Anyone who has a problem with that can go to hell.”

Startled by his vehemence, Charles laughed, which only prompted Erik to glare at him irritably. “What?”

“Nothing.” Charles squeezed Erik’s hand, smiling. “It’s just that you believe everything so strongly, so completely. I adore it, and you.”

Erik blushed and glanced away. “Well it’s true.”

Charles laced his fingers through Erik’s and sent him a small pulse of affection. Eyes widening, Erik shot a quick look up at Charles, and after a moment, the hard set of his mouth softened.

“So…” he said slowly. “Are we dating now?”

“We are,” Charles confirmed. A thrill tingled down his spine at the thought, and he couldn’t hold back a pleased grin. “But,” he added, “there’s still a lot we have to talk about. The bloodbond for one — it’s going to be trial and error with it, especially now that we know that I’ve developed a rather embarrassing dependency on your blood.”

Erik grinned smugly. “You’re _addicted_ to me.”

“And that addiction nearly killed you last night,” Charles said sternly.

“But it didn’t.” Erik’s grin only widened. “You _need_ me.”

It was an annoyingly cavalier response, as usual. “Yes,” Charles grumbled, rolling his eyes, “I do. And later, we’re going to have to talk about how little respect you have for death.”

“Later,” Erik agreed, in an airy way that suggested he’d never listen.

That was going to be a battle for another time. Sighing, Charles said, “We’ll have to talk about other things, too. Our expectations of each other. The issue of our...rather large age difference. Plus you’ll be going to law school soon, and we might have to contend with long distances and — ”

“Charles?”

He paused. “What?”

“Please,” Erik said, his mind a swirl of red, of _warmth_ , “shut up and just kiss me.”

That was hardly a mature response to the very real issues they’d have to face as vampire and mortal, as a psionic and a psi-null, as two men born in very different times. And yet, as Charles looked over at Erik’s wry grin, those worries seemed very far away. They paled into insignificance next to Erik’s hand on his, Erik’s windswept hair, his mischievous eyes, his expressive brows, his gorgeous mouth, which curved up into a smile when he saw Charles staring.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, you’re impossible,” Charles said, and yanked him in for a kiss.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [bloodbound (the professional remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15228528) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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